


Next to Normal

by Cecileen_aka_C2



Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Next to Normal - Kitt/Yorkey, Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: ...Yes I Am Putting That Tag, ...ish?, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Needs a Hug, Bipolar Disorder, Deceit | Janus Sanders Needs a Hug, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Frequent Discussion of Misophonia and Synesthesia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inspired by Next to Normal, Linguistics and STEM Analogies, Logan Is Trying His Best, Logic | Logan Sanders Needs a Hug, M/M, Madness, Medical Procedures, Medication, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Morality | Patton Sanders Needs a Hug, Next to Normal AU, POV Alternating, Recreational Drug Use, Referenced Infant Death, Remus Is A Very Good Brother, Roman Is Helplessly In Love, Solely Because I am THE Nerd, Suicide Attempt, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, This Can Be Patton's Journey To Self Awareness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 40,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25755247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cecileen_aka_C2/pseuds/Cecileen_aka_C2
Summary: ⚜ Patton Cade: Sexy. Sharp. Delusional bipolar depressive. Thirties or forties.⚕ Janus Lobe-Cade: Patton's eldest son. Dashing. Gentle. Bright. Playful. Everything a parent would want. Almost eighteen.☸ Logan Lobe: Patton's husband. Handsome. Genuine. Constant. Tired. Thirties or forties.☥ Virgil Lobe-Cade: Patton's second son. Sixteen and trying to be perfect. It's not going well.♔ Roman Lucia: Theatre kid. Romantic. Stoner. Slacker. Philosopher prince. Seventeen.♕ Remus Lucia: Roman’s supportive twin. Chaos enthusiast. Certified mood wrecker.⚚ Doctor Emile Picani: A cartoony psychopharmacist. Assured. Ruler of his own wonderland.☤ Doctor Jeremy ‘Remy’ Picani: Emile’s brother. Caffeine ambassador. On the young side of ageless. A rock star.A family drama inspired by Brian Yorkey and Tom Kitt's Pulitzer-winning musical.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 15
Kudos: 18





	1. Just Another Day / Everything Else

**Author's Note:**

> It's been awhile, Ao3! How have you been? After several fandom migrations I have settled in musical theatre and Sanders Sides fandom for now.
> 
> Next to Normal is a 2008 American rock musical that addresses grief, depression, suicide, drug abuse, ethics in modern psychiatry, and the underbelly of suburban life.
> 
> It is considered as the pioneer of musical theatre representation of mental illness, with an explicit illustration of mental illness and the storyline that centers around its effect on the characters. 
> 
> It is frequently compared with Dear Evan Hansen, another musical that focuses on mental illness. They are both directed by Michael Greif, and I love both soundtrack, but I will say this: 
> 
> Dear Evan Hansen came out in mid 10s. By that time more attention has been brought to the mental illness, so the younger fans can relate to Evan and do not have to fear the stigma for revealing their illness. In short, DEH is more 'trendy.'
> 
> On the other hand, Next to Normal came out in late 00s, when the mentally ill were more likely to receive negative remarks than positive ones when revealed their illness. NtN does not hesitate to portray such fear the mental illness patients have to live in.
> 
> Of course, that is not the only reason I love NtN, to the level of putting it alongside Hamilton on the top of my musical list. NtN clearly presents that the family members of mental illness patients too are affected by the disorder.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fanfic, and if it interests you, please go ahead and listen to Next to Normal soundtrack!

⚕ “Wait, popsss?! What are you doing up? It’s three-thirty!”

“SAYS YOU, MISTER? IT’S THE SEVENTH NIGHT THIS WEEK I’VE SAT ‘TIL MORNING ...”

(Great. Here we go.)

“HELPING MYSELF WITH NOT JUST ONE, NOT JUST TWO, BUT _SIX_ COOKIES ...”

(Oh no, now that is a bad sssign.)

“IMAGINING THE WAYS YOU MIGHT HAVE DIED.”

“Ah, yes, and tonight’sss winner isss?”

“IN A FREAK SEPTEMBER ICE STORM WITH NO WARNINGS ...”

“Pop, we live in Florida. There is no ice ssstorm in Flo-”

“THERE’S A GANG WAR, THERE’S A BIRD FLU, TRAINS COLLIDE.”

“Sssssure, there can be a gang war in Florida because … well it is Florida, the wacky sssunshine peninsula ssstate … and I don’t think it’s the bird flu ssseason right now, and you know I would walk for hoursss rather than taking trai-”

“NOW YOU ACT ALL SWEET AND SURLY, BUT YOU SWORE YOU’D COME HOME EARLY AND YOU LIED.”

“You gotta let go, popsss-I’m almost 18!”

“Are you snorting coke?”

“Not at the moment?!”

“Pattoncake? Is that you? Who’s up at this hour?”

“It’s Logan. Go. Up the back way.”

“Why does he hate me?”

“Because you’re a little twat?”

“Popsssss, you can’t call me a twat-”

“But you’ll always be my favorite piece of cookie!”

“Everything okay? I heard voices.”

“Just me. Talking to myself, you know. Now you head on upstairs-I’ll be up for sex in a minute.”

“You’ll … uh … are you sure you’re okay?”

“Go.”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

**⚜** Oh, hello there! Or salutations! That would be Charlotte’s fancy way of saying hello.

My name is Patton Cade, and I have the perfectest loving family in the entire world! They are SO adoring and I love them every day of every week! My eldest son’s a little shit who cannot comprehend the concept of curfew. This must be the 525600th night he broke it this year. Though, I don’t know any of his friends who would let him stay for night. My husband’s really smart but boring-he would often ruin my daddy jokes with literal definitions. And my second son, though a genius, is a freak who must’ve been born in the wrong time zone. But still, I help them love each other. Two fathers and two brothers, cheek to cheek!

“Vee, it's 4 in the morning, is everything ok?”

“Everything's great, why wouldn't it be great? It's great! I’ve just got three more chapters of calculus, a physics problem set, a history quiz and two pages on floral imagery in Flowers for Algernon which is like duh. Everything’s so under control it’s just like … calm-”

“Honey, you need to slow down. I’ll take that Redbull, and take some time for yourself. I'm going to have sex with your father.”

“Great, thanks, I'm so glad I know that.”

“No problemo, kiddo!”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

**☥** In times like these I cannot help but wonder how I should take it or whether I am reacting correctly, whatever the definition of 'correctly' is. Dad keeps saying we are the perfect family, but why do I keep questioning if other families live the way we do, whether they love each other or just fake it, fearing the others' judging looks? Do other sons to feel like I feel too? 'Cause some days, I think I'm dying, but I'm really only trying to get through- f̷o̷r̷ j̷u̷s̷t̷ a̷n̷o̷t̷h̷e̷r̷ d̷a̷y̷,̷ f̷o̷r̷ a̷n̷o̷t̷h̷e̷r̷ s̷t̷o̷l̷e̷n̷ h̷o̷u̷r̷ 

W̷h̷e̷n̷ t̷h̷e̷ w̷o̷r̷l̷d̷ w̷i̷l̷l̷ f̷e̷e̷l̷ m̷y̷ p̷o̷w̷e̷r̷ a̷n̷d̷ o̷b̷e̷y̷

It's just another day when I f̷e̷e̷l̷ l̷i̷k̷e̷ I̷'̷l̷l̷ l̷i̷v̷e̷ f̷o̷r̷e̷v̷e̷r̷ feel like this feeling never goes away. For just another day …

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☸ “That was great, wasn’t it? It was great. Oh Christ, I’m late.”

“That’ll teach you to take a whole ten minutes!”

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, isn’t it a beautiful day?”

“Okay, Sure. I mean, it’s cloudy, and raining, and really cold for September, but beautiful.”

“Makes you wanna dive in with both feet, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Well, frankly speaking, I never know what he’s talking about.

I am the one who built this house with patience and with care. When we got married, I promised Patton to be the one to hold our house together, both literally and figuratively. But when rain clouds gather and the sky becomes gray and rainy, you just know it’s going to hurt when it falls. So you want to start building some walls while grappling with that gloomy weather as much as life allows. But you cannot find the time to do so because you are always occupied with work or comforting the family, so you manage to live every day on a latte and a prayer, establishing a daily routine to maintain balance and stability.

But how can you keep the cup from tipping when it’s being pushed toward the edge of a table? How can you keep your grip from slipping in despair for just another day? In the life with overflow of hustle and hurry, you are dying to wipe your worry clean away so you won't drown, but you suppress the selfish urge for just another day: this is how I chose to survive my life.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

**⚜** I will keep the plates all spinning like a carnival with a smile so white and winning all the way! Because what doesn't kill me doesn't kill me if I’m in a carnival! So let me fill myself up for just another day. There’s no way it’s gonna hurt-o̷n̷l̷y̷ w̷h̷e̷n̷ I̷ b̷r̷e̷a̷t̷h̷e̷ o̷n̷l̷y̷ w̷h̷e̷n̷ I̷ t̷r̷y̷ o̷n̷l̷y̷ w̷h̷e̷n̷ I̷ t̷h̷i̷n̷k̷ o̷n̷l̷y̷ w̷h̷e̷n̷ I̷ c̷r̷y̷ o̷n̷l̷y̷ w̷h̷e̷n̷ I̷ w̷o̷r̷k̷ o̷n̷l̷y̷ w̷h̷e̷n̷ I̷ p̷l̷a̷y̷  o̷n̷l̷y̷ w̷h̷e̷n̷ I̷ m̷o̷v̷e̷ only when I say 'it's just another day!' 

“You’re gonna be late, and you’ve got a huge day.”

“You have negative zero idea what I do all day.”

“Jazz band before school, class, Key Club, then football. Ha!”

“Not bad!”

“Now get out of here.”

“Morning, ssstormcloud~”

“So, um, I got the date for my winter recital-do you think you guys can come?”

“We’ll put it on the calendar!”

“Dad, the calendar is still on April of last year.”

“Oh. Well, happy Easter!”

“Yeah, happy Easter, dad.” 

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Morning. Dad’s on _fire_ this morning.”

“Oh, I know.” 

(Oh, right.) “Eww.”

“Sugar, can you do the shopping today? I’m slammed at work, and we’re out of everything.”

“I keep this cave clean. You go out, get fire!”

“Uhh … absolutely.” (Again, I have no clue.)

Yup, that’s the fan-freaking-tastic family it should be! So I will hold all the busy days together! I will hide the mess away if there is one, but there hasn't been any mess in my life since Logan came into my life! With him on my side I will survive another day after another, and I will pray to hold on just this way and stay like this for forever! And for my family's sake I will take what I can take, but I'm only just awake-

Where was I? Oh, right! I will keep the plates all spinning like a circus! And the world just keeps on spinning, rotating a full cycle every 24 hours and revolving around the sun (yes, I _know_ that the sun is the center of this universe!) every 365 days. Then I will spin too and dance with this world-

_Is it just me, or is this house spinning?_

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“Pattoncake?”

“Dad?”

“Don’t worry about it, Go on ahead. You’ll miss the bus.”

“Pop?”

“Everything’s fine! I’m just making sandwiches. On the floor. You go ahead. You’ll miss the bus.”

“Go, Virgil.”

“Okay ...”

“Sunshine? Everything okay?”

“Yup! I wanted to get ahead on lunches. And I ended up recreating the Roman mosaic floor, but you can eat it!”

“Sure. Edible floor sounds nice. Let me help you up.”

“I guess I got carried away. Aww Loggie, don't make such a sad look!”

“Maybe a little. Let’s go see Doctor Picani. This is just a blip. Okay? Nothing to worry about. I’ll wrap up the, um, sandwich floor, and then we’ll go. Okay?”

“Roger that!”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

So again, we have Virgil Lobe-Cade: an honor student with keen understanding of existentialism literary theory, a skilled artist with Tim Burton taste, and a proficient pianist who often covers the songs of ‘emo bands.’ And right now he’s running his fingers across the piano, tingling the golden ratio of 36 blacks and 52 whites.

Even though he’s a pianist, Mozart is NOT his idol. He could be idle and remain as an idol of a million people anyway. Virgil would rather be more like Beethoven, who was abused to be perfect. The critical difference is that Beethoven was abused by his alcoholic dad while Virgil is the one who’s abusing himself. 

Beethoven might have been a victim of mental disorder. Mozart too might have had a psychiatric disorder. Yet their mental health could never affect their musical talent. Their music is not crazy-it is balanced and nimble and crystalline clear. You don’t have to know their personal problems or struggles to appreciate the logical harmony. But if you do know their struggles, you cannot help but wonder whether they filled up the blank papers like they’re running out of time, fearing that mental illness will devour them alive one day. 

Anxiety is what fuels creativity. Artists spend every second they’re alive creating their magnum opus, desperate to leave the evidence of their existence. Every dot a painter paints, every note a musician plays, every word a performer delivers becomes a red blood cell. Then a fiercely beating heart pumps them to flow through every vein, setting an artist in a burning passion. They are willing to sacrifice their mental stability for an ecstatic flow as if they need it to survive. 

Then one day tomorrow won’t arrive. The beat loses a melody, and the artistic desperation is forever trapped in inky scribbles and wrinkled papers. But a young musician can scan through the score, put their fingers on keys or strings or tone holes or piston valves, and start playing the ideas from centuries ago. ‘Tis the beauty of being a musician. 

Virgil is the sort of musician who pursues the perfect, flawless performance of every technique. He practices every day and night till it sounds ‘perfect.’ He plays till his fingers ache and every string on his ten fingernails break. He will play till he leaves vivid blood stains on a clean keyboard and make his parents and teachers scream in terror. Then he would hastily wrap his fingers in rings of band aids and keep playing. When he can play it perfectly, then he will definitely rock the recital. 

Music is just one of many ways that will save Virgil from paranoia. He has constructed a stable base in academics and visual art too. He can use any three of them to get into his dream universities (Yale is currently on top of the list). He got a full ride and early admit, plus he’s graduating early, so he’s technically done with this school and all he has to do is wait till May. When he lives in a dorm he won’t feel sick 24/7 and look deathly pale even under the brightest sunlight. And there will be nothing his parents can say about that! 

Such a promising future is only a few sonata away, so he keeps playing and playing. He’s too tired to grow an attachment to music. Yet he is too tired to pour in dedication and devotion to his musical career. Unlike the uniformity of Burton’s signature monochrome stripes, the harmony of notes makes Virgil anxious. Such musical harmony is meant to be destroyed by a crashing or shattering scream. Visual disturbance can be tolerated. Heck, some people will even find morbid fascination over creepypasta stories and gory games. But auditory disturbance…you can never get used to it. Quickly or slowly, you will reach the point where you are dying to Van Gogh yourself. 

For Virgil, the most perfect harmony is played and only played with an absence of feeling. Feeling is too subjective thus too unstable. Yet unbeknownst to him, his deep understanding of musical virtuosos’ mental illness can serve as an advantage, for he is capable of recreating their desperation not just as a fellow musician but as another artist longing to escape this crappy world.

When Virgil continues to play everything else will go away. Or he will go away from everything else. But he will never mind the loss of connection to his past lifestyle, for nothing can be sweeter than liberation. 

So Virgil helplessly yearns to be freed from the paranoid environment, as he has been doing for years.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“Sounding celestial as usual!”

“I still have this practice room for seven and a half minutes. Hold on, ‘as usual?’”

“Yeah, I mean, I know-I just like to listen to you playing the piano. I’m Roman. Roman Lucia.”

“Virgil Lobe-Cade.”

“Yeah. I mean, I know.”

“Can you please stop saying that? You’re starting to sound a little creepy.”

“Oh, did I startle you? My apologies. But first of all, who in this school doesn’t know _the_ Virgil Lobe-Cade? Secondly, we’ve gone to school together for, like, six years. And I remember you playing piano for _Ordinary Days_ when the theatre club performed it last year. I played Warren-”

“Really? Oh, now I do remember you.”

“I also sit behind you in four classes!”

“And the thing just got radically creepy.”

“You’re in here a lot. Before school and after. How do you manage to balance your academic work and extracurricular activities? ‘Cause us Lucia twins are notorious for impossible incapability of time management-”

“Right. Seven minutes.”

“Oooookay ...”

“Leaving already? You give up way too easily, Lucia.”

“Uh, You’re kind of a confusing person, Violeta V.”

“Oh, you haven’t met one of my dads, Lucia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roman's ability to flirt? Haha never heard of her
> 
> Me: You know Patton would NEVER say SEX-
> 
> Also me: But that's literally from the original piece ... NtN is at least PG-15 ...
> 
> *Mysterious Paths suddenly plays in the background*
> 
> The visual+auditory torture part is based on myself. (Although it is self diagnosis) I have misophonia. Meaning 'hatred of sound,' it is a condition where some specific sounds trigger negative thoughts, emotions, and physical reactions. It is NOT classified as an auditory or psychiatric condition. Little is known about it, and evidence-based condition management methods are unknown, so I gotta deal it by myself. haha
> 
> *Now the music stops*
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	2. Who's Crazy / My Psychopharmacologist and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clear daytime sky losing its light, clouded by rainclouds of medication.
> 
> The midnight sky helplessly missing the daytime, wishing to be able to go back.
> 
> The red butterfly fluttering around the purple flower by the power of music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA casually turning a fanfic into antidepressant research paper. Trust me, I still can't believe that I ended up researching all those medication. 
> 
> I think 'Who's Crazy / My Psychopharmacologist and I' is the 'most Next to Normal' song. Its ominous tune highlighting the unsettling lyrics, the chilling contrast of two (or three?) narrators, eerie listing of medications with The Sound of Music reference, and the very last line that sends the chill to spine - the first-time listener would be able to immediately grasp the tone of NtN. 
> 
> I strongly recommend listening to the actual numbers as you read this fanfic in order to truly get the atmosphere!

☸ “The pink ones are taken with food but not with the white ones. The white ones are taken with the round yellow ones but not with the triangle yellow ones. The triangle yellow ones are taken with the oblong green ones with food but not with the pink ones. If a train is leaving New York at a hundred and twenty miles an hour and another train is leaving St. Petersburg at the same time but going backwards, which train ...”

And that is doctor Emile Picani for you. Honestly I am uncertain of whether his influence on Patton is positive or negative (or zero), but if it is for Patton I would drive him to Picani clinic everyday. Urban sprawl has made driving a critical skill in America, therefore a person cannot drive is greatly challenged to survive in America. Children without a driver’s license have their guardians, but what about people who cannot drive because of their physical and/or mental conditions? Sure, there are webs of public transportation, but let’s admit, American public transportation system is never great.

Who's crazy, the mentally ill or his husband? Who's crazy to live their whole life believing that somehow things aren't as bizarre as they are? Who's crazy, the one who can't cope, or maybe, the one who'll still hope? The one who sees doctors or the one who just waits in the car? Is it crazy to want to have my husband back?

I was a wild twenty-five, terribly lovesick, and I loved my husband who was so alive. His bright sky blue eyes seemed to radiate warm positive energy 24/7; when I looked into his eyes the sky was the limit and I’ve never felt so helpless. Marie Curie must have felt the same way as I did when she saw blue glare of radium for the first time. I never doubted that those eyes would continue to shine even after the sun dies. Patton has been the only source of sunlight in my life, but now I believe I would settle for one who can drive, helplessly waiting in the shadow for the sun to come out again…

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ “...The round blue ones with food, but not with the oblong white ones. The white ones with the round yellow ones, but not the trapezoidal green ones. Split the green ones into thirds with a tiny chisel, use a mortar and pestle to grind…”

This is my psychopharmacologist, doctor Emile Picani. He loves cartoons and his room is filled with stuffed animals. (My favorite one is a sky blue frog one of which we named 'Lilypadton.') During his sessions we just talk and talk about cartoons, and sometimes musicals, quoting the lines that juxtapose (Yay! A fancy word!) with my mood. 

His sessions feel like an odd romance: intense and very intimate. We do our dance in cartoon and musical quotes and songs, serenading each other in the out-of-context flirting lines, varying from 'Our love is god.' to 'I've never felt so helpless!' plus 'It could be us and only us.' and 'What the heck I gotta do to be with you?' with 'I think that all of us want to go out with you!' I call it a lover's game, but I think I'm the only one who calls it by that name. 

But why _wouldn't_ it be a lover's game? He knows my deepest secrets, and I know his name. We both know _something_ about each other! And though he'll never hold me, he'll always take my calls, as every love should do. He leads the dance, and I am a small blue bird fluttering around him. He would occasionally let me rest on his head or shoulder or hand. It's truly like he told me: without a little lift, the ballerina falls.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚚ Cade, Patton: Bipolar depressive with delusional episodes. Sixteen year history of medication. Adjustment after one week.

“I've got less anxiety but I have headaches, blurry vision, and I can't feel my toes.” 

“So we'll try again, and eventually, we'll get it right.”

“Not a very exact science, is it?” 

Well, that is highly arguable. Psychology IS a science-social science, to be specific. It does not belong to STEAM, like the ‘traditional’ category of science, but it still uses scientific methods. It also frequently collaborates with other scientific studies. For instance, pharmacy is deeply associated with psychology since patients administer drugs to treat their disorders like they do when they contracted physical illness. To list out few examples:

Zoloft is a trade name for Sertraline (C17H17Cl2N). It is an elliptical pill with ZOLOFT imprinted on one side and strength on the other side, which is also indicated with color variance: 25 MG for green, 50 MG for blue, and 100 MG for yellow. It is used to treat several disorders but accompanies side effects such as diarrhea, sexual dysfunction, and insomnia. In serious cases, it increases risk of suicide and serotonin syndrome, which raises blood pressure, heart rate, body temperature and brings tremor, sweating, dilated pupils, diarrhea, and hyperreflexia. 

Paxil is a trade name for Paroxetine (C19H20FNO3). It is another elliptical (round for Paxil CR) pill. For Paxil, PAXIL is imprinted on one side and strength (without the unit mg) on the other side: 10 for yellow, 20 for pink, 30 for blue, and 40 for green. For Paxil CR, 12.5 is yellow, 25 is pink, and 37.5 is blue. The disorder Paxil is used to treat remarkably overlaps with those of Zoloft. It comes with common side effects of drowsiness, dry mouth, loss of appetite, insomnia, and sexual dysfunction. It too can cause serotonin syndrome in severe cases and maniac syndrome. 

Buspar is a trade name for Buspirone (C21H31N5O2). This one is shaped like a barrel, and both 5 mg one and 10 mg one are white. BUSPAR is imprinted on one side, and MJ 5 or MJ 10 on the other side. This guy is primarily used to treat anxiety disorders, particularly generalized anxiety disorder. Common side effects include nausea, headaches, dizziness, and difficulty concentrating. It too can cause serotonin syndrome alongside hallucinations and seizures. In addition it has not been found to be effective in treating psychosis.

Xanax is a trade name for Alprazolam (C17H13ClN4). All pills have XANAX and its strength imprinted on it. There are two different shapes: 1 mg (blue), 0.5 mg (orange), and 0.25 mg (white) ones are elliptical and 2 mg (white) one is rectangular. It is most commonly used in short term management of anxiety disorders, specifically panic disorder or generalized anxiety disorder. It can also be used for chemotherapy-induced nausea alongside other treatments. Common side effects include sleepiness, depression, headaches, feeling tired, dry mouth, and memory problems.

Depakote is a trade name for Valproate (C8H16O2). It’s a simple blue and white capsule with THIS END UP DEPAKOTE SPRINKLE 125 mg imprinted on it. And at this point I bet you know the pattern and don’t even need to guess what its strength is! It’s primarily used to treat epilepsy and bipolar disorder and prevent migraine headaches. It’s also useful for preventing seizures for absence seizures, partial seizures, and generalized seizures patients. It may cause nausea, vomiting, sleepiness, and dry mouth, and more seriously liver failure and pancreatitis. 

Klonopin is a trade name for Clonazepam (C15H10ClN3O3). And this one has quite a unique design: in the middle of a round pill there is a goldfish shaped hole! The orange one with K ROCHE ½ K KLONOPIN indicates its strength is 0.5 mg, blue with K ROCHE 1 K KLONOPIN for 1 mg, and white with K ROCHE 2 K KLONOPIN for 2 mg. It is used to prevent and treat seizures, panic disorders, and movement disorder known as akathisia. It may cause sleepiness, poor condition, and agitation. Plus long-term use may result in tolerance, dependence, and withdrawal symptoms is stopped abruptly. 

Ambien is a trade name for Zolpidem (C19H21N3O). Both 5 mg and 10 mg pills are capsule-shaped and film-coated. The former is pink with AMB 5 imprinted on one side and 5401 on the other side, while the latter is white and imprinted with AMB 10 on one side and 5421 on the other side. This one is primarily used for the short-term treatment of dyssomnias, yet its usage is recommended only after cognitive behavioral therapy for insomnia and behavioral changes. It can cause daytime sleepiness, headache, nausea, diarrhea, memory problems, hallucinations, and substance abuse.

Prozac is a trade name for Fluoxetine (C17H18F3NO). There is a green elliptical 10 mg one with PROZAC 10 imprinted on it and three variants of capsule-shaped ones: a green 10 mg one with DISTA 3104 and PROZAC 10 mg imprinted on it, a green and yellow 20 mg one with DISTA 3105 and PROZAC 20 mg imprinted on it, and a green and orange 40 mg one with DISTA 3107 and PROZAC 40mg imprinted on it. It is used for the treatment of major depressive disorder, obsessive–compulsive disorder (OCD), bulimia nervosa, panic disorder, and premenstrual dysphoric disorder. Ironically, it may decrease the risk of suicide in those over the age of 65, but increase the risk of suicidal behavior in people under 25 years old.

And last but not least, Ativan is a trade name for Lorazepam (C15H10Cl2N2O2). It's a white five sided (it looks like a fat star!) tablet with A imprinted on one side and BPI 63 for .05 mg dosage, BPI 64 for 1 mg dosage, and BPI 65 for 2 mg dosage on the other side. It is used to treat anxiety disorders, trouble sleeping, active seizures including status epilepticus, alcohol withdrawal, and chemotherapy-induced nausea and vomiting. Yet it can cause weakness, sleepiness, low blood pressure, and a decreased effort to breathe. Plus for the depressed ones, there may be an increased risk of suicide.

The Ativan especially calms me when I see the bills. But isn't every single one of them so colorful? They remind me of Skittles, jellybeans and M&M, but unlike those, they actually make you healthy!

“These are a few of my favorite pills!”

“Not raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens, brown paper packages tied up with strings-”

“Same melody, only a word difference. Here, have this!”

“Ooh, thank you, doctor, Valium is my favorite color-alongside gold! How'd you know?”

“Wowuhh... lucky guess?”

“Was that from Our Love is God? Nice reference, though I don’t think that’s appropriate-”

“It’s called ‘a quote out of context!’”

“Oooookay?”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☥ “It’s just that the thing with jazz is, how do you ever know if you got it right? It’s just making shit up.”

“Which is also known as the act of creation!”

“Oh. you’re the one of those pretentious stoner types.”

“FALS-I mean that’s totally unfair! _Yo_ , Roman Lucia, _no soy_ pretentious. And I’m definitely not classical-it’s so rigid and structured. There’s no room for improvisation. You have to play the notes on the page, which is, soooo uncreative-”

“Yes, and what did Mozart know, anyway? He should have just smoked a bowl and jammed on ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.’”

“Yeah, let’s do that!”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚚ Cade, Patton: Second adjustment after three weeks. Delusions less frequent, but depressive state worse.

“I'm nauseous and I'm constipated, completely lost my appetite and gained six pounds, which, you know, is just not fair.”

Patton’s buffet of medications may cause the following side effects, one or more: dizziness, drowsiness, sexual dysfunction, headaches and diarrhea, tremors and constipation, nightmares and nervous laughter, seizures, palpitations, anxiousness, anger, exhaustion, insomnia, irritability, nausea, vomiting... and odd and alarming sexual feelings. Oh, and one last thing: 

_Use may be fatal._

Though, without medication he would not be able to live. Which would you say is worse, living dead or dying alive? Personally I would stick to the former. What good is physical health if the patient does not feel like living? Sometimes I strongly wish that the Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor really existed. If he swallowed the grey oblong pill, the supercomputer would be able to communicate directly with his brain and derive the fundamental root of his illness. 

It is my, no, the doctor's duty to keep patients healthy and alive, so I will do whatever it takes ... and I’ll let you decide whether it means physically or mentally.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

♔ “I’ve wasted, like, weeks of practice with you in here. Improvising. _Por lo que muchas gracias_ , _señor_ Lucia.”

_OhmygodVirgilsaidgraciasnotjustthankyouIdon’tcareifitwassarcastic-_

“ _De nada_ , _señor_ V. Though, Oscar Peterson was classically trained.”

_Wow, smooth as transition from Helpless to Satisfied, Roman Lucia._

“And Beethoven did cocaine.”

“Miles Davis went to Juilliard.”

“Plus Mozart wrote poems about farts.”

_Holyheavenwearegettingtooclose-_

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚚ Cade, Patton: Third adjustment after five weeks. Reports continued mild anxiety and some lingering depression.

“I now can't feel my fingers or my toes. I sweat profusely for no reason. Fortunately, I have absolutely no desire for sex. Although, whether that's the medicine or the marriage is anybody's guess.”

“I'm sure it's the medicine.”

“Oh, thank you, that's very sweet, but my husband's waiting in the car.”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☸ Who's crazy? The one who's half gone? Or maybe the one who holds on? The glass might be half empty, but I would like to believe it still is half full and hold on to the remaining half. Submerged in those blueness I see you, Patton. I see you every time-I know you are there. I still remember how you got me so helpless with those big round blue eyes, and it seems so vivid that it only feels like yesterday. But remembering when you were twenty and brilliant and bold… forces me to recall when I was so young and so dumb, then lament at the fact that now I am old. 

I was naive to believe that love can overcome any hardship. I thought I was smart with math but stupid with love, but Patton told me otherwise. I pledged to have this human incarnation of sunshine to be my husband, to live together in the covenant of marriage, and to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as we both shall live.

In the Name of God, I, Logan Lobe, took Patton Cade to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. That was my solemn vow. And I did my best to stay true to the promise. But it is getting … harder and harder … day by day. 

Is it illogical for being tired of _loving_? But that is exactly how I feel. He shined as bright as the morning sun, then suddenly he was wicked and wired. A̷n̷d̷ t̷h̷o̷u̷g̷h̷ h̷e̷'̷l̷l̷ n̷e̷v̷e̷r̷ h̷o̷l̷d̷ m̷e̷ The sex was simply inspired, H̷e̷'̷l̷l̷ a̷l̷w̷a̷y̷s̷ t̷a̷k̷e̷ m̷y̷ c̷a̷l̷l̷s̷ and now there's no sex because he's depressed. I̷t̷'̷s̷ t̷r̷u̷l̷y̷ l̷i̷k̷e̷ h̷e̷ t̷o̷l̷d̷ m̷e̷ And me, I'm just tired, tired, tired, tired ... W̷i̷t̷h̷o̷u̷t̷ a̷ l̷i̷f̷t̷,̷ t̷h̷e̷ b̷a̷l̷l̷e̷r̷i̷n̷a̷ f̷a̷l̷l̷s̷

Who's crazy, the one who's uncured? M̷y̷ p̷s̷y̷c̷h̷o̷p̷h̷a̷r̷m̷a̷c̷o̷l̷o̷g̷i̷s̷t̷ a̷n̷d̷ I̷ .̷.̷.̷ Or maybe the one who's implored? T̷o̷g̷e̷t̷h̷e̷r̷ s̷i̷d̷e̷ b̷y̷ s̷i̷d̷e̷ The one who has treatment W̷i̷t̷h̷o̷u̷t̷ h̷i̷m̷ I̷'̷d̷ d̷i̷e̷ Or the one who just deals with the pain? M̷y̷ p̷s̷y̷c̷h̷o̷p̷h̷a̷r̷m̷a̷c̷o̷l̷o̷g̷i̷s̷t̷ a̷n̷d̷ I̷ .̷.̷.̷

Now we have both aged, the light the love radiated has died a little … or more than it seems. They say love is blind because its brightness blinds us ... but _believe_ me, love is _insane_.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚚ Cade, Patton: Seven weeks. 

“Doctor Picani, I don't feel like myself. I mean, I don't feel anything. Is this norm-”

_Hm. Patient stable._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In medical terms, stable only means you're not getting worse, not that you're improving.
> 
> Roman and Virgil got (too) close - both literally and figuratively - but instead of kissing, Roman and Virgil played furiously, four hands. (RIP Roman)
> 
> Now I've successfully convinced myself that research of those pills and tablets only contributed to the unsettling lunacy that is laid throughout the entire story, so, mission success?
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the second chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	3. Perfect for You / I Miss The Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff we all deserve: Violeta V begins to open up to Gay Disney Prince (feat. our favorite trash rat)

☥ “Hey Virgil~ ah, welcome to mi casa! It’s French for ‘front door!’”

“You know that’s false, Lucia.”

I somehow ended up at his room, and he’s packing the bowl of a bigass bong. Sweet, dad’s going to have a heart attack when he- wait, what? 

“Um, your mom is, like, in the next room.”

“No problemo! She’s in denial-it’s totally convenient.”

He then took a hit from the bong, then offered it to me. What else was I meant to do other than just look, no, intensely staring at it and then staring at him even harder?

“Oh c’mon V. It’s therapeutic. Plus how can you call yourself an artist if you don’t do drugs?”

“Right, it’s medical marijuana to treat your ADD. Your family must be loaded enough to pay for that. And I’m not an artist-”

“It’s more like they don’t care whatever I do-unless I blow up my window-and I pay for it fair and square with my money from part time. And WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ARE NOT AN ARTIST-”

“Because I’m not the type who pours their soul into the art?”

“Virgil Lobe-Cade, you are one of the BEST pianists in the entire school, plus I have seen your sketchbook and I can definitely confirm your art is extraordinary. Anyone with Tim Burton taste is definitely an artist. Convince me otherwise. Oh, I really liked your zentangle art of a skull! As a proud Mexican who celebrates _Día de Muertos_ , I can say the contrast of gold stencil and black ink flower design fully depicted the beauty of death. Where did you get the inspiration from?”

_Wow, he is one smooth dialogue leader. Does this apply to every theatre kid or is it just him?_

“Actually, it’s from the blackwood skull figure my pet likes to rest on.”

“And I bet you’re the one who carved it!”

“Yes I did.”

“Do you mind telling me your pet’s name?”

“…Her name is Titania.”

“Titania? Like the one from A Midsummer Night's Dream? That’s so cool! What kind of pet is she?”

“A Mexican redknee tarantula?”

Anyone could not have missed his pupils dilating and vibrating in terror. Ha.

“She would absolutely love to be in the environment like this.”

“Oooookay … thanks?”

_Insert another aeon of awkward silence._

“You should really stop doing that. Smoking or vaping or whatever it’s called. I don’t put anything into my mouth that’s on fire.”

“Hm, I guess that’s a good rule, Violeta V.”

_And he just tries to kiss me like that?! Right after smoking?!?!!_

“Next time ... Lucia ... ask for consent.” 

“‘msorry ...”

“Did I sound threatening? (No you didn’t …) I apologize. But look. Lucia, I can’t do this. Not with my life. I’m like one fuckup from disaster.”

“Your life is not a disaster. It never is. The environment is a disaster. And sprint is a disaster too.”

“Lucia, you’re stoned.”

And he casually grabbed the ivory guitar that was leaning on his clothes hanger in a disguise of a chair. Seriously? He thinks one stupid song can fix everything? Should I seek a logical explanation to this behavior from him being Hispanic, or theatre kids thing, or just the marijuana he smoked?

“ _Our planet is poison: the oceans, the air around and beneath and above you._ ”

“Um, Lucia, that's true, and I totally care. Global warming is real-” 

“I'm trying to tell you I love you, Virge.” 

“What?” 

“ _The world is at war filled with death and disease._

_We dance on the edge of destruction._

_The globe's getting warmer by deadly degrees-_ ” 

“... And this is one fucked up seduction.” 

_Because it really is. But he does sing well._

“ _This planet is pretty much broken beyond all repair._

_But one thing is working-if you're standing there._

_Perfect for you, I could be perfect for you._

_I might be lazy, a loner, a bit of a stoner,_ (at least you’re aware of it) _it's true._

_But I might be perfect-I'll make myself perfect, perfect for you._

_You square all the corners, I straighten the curves-_ ” 

“You've got some nerve, Lucia. And I'm just all nerves.” 

" _But even if everything else turns to dirt-_

_We'll be the one thing in this world that won't hurt._ "

 _... Huh._

" _I can't fix what's fucked up._

 _But one thing I know I can do-I can be perfect for you._ "

And he finally put down the guitar. I have to admit, it was actually sweet.

"And maybe it's not perfect, but hey, it is here!"

"NOW EVERYONE GIVE IT UP FOR YOUR FAVORITE STINKY TRASH RAT-"

"HOLY SH-"

A human bounced off from Lucia's pile of laundry. Yes. I hope I'm finally going crazy, but that is exactly what happened.

"Oh come on _hermano menor_ ~ (WE'RE LITERALLY TWIN AND I'M OLDER-) I should get credit for helping you with lyrics for that lovely serenade! Oh evening Virgil! The famous Virgil Lobe-Cade! Wait, Lobe-cade? Like lubric-"

"GOD FREAKING DAMMIT REMUS LUCIA-"

And you don't need to know Spanish to correctly assume Luc-, no, Roman is swearing in staccatos.

"Sorry about that Virgil- oh it's almost 8pm! Here, let me escort to your house."

"I literally live 2 blocks away-"

"C'mon!"

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Nice house, can I come in?"

"Hmmm ... no."

"Okay ..."

"But I can kiss you, Roman."

"!!!"

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚕ "Oh there you were popsss. Wait ... are you ssspying on your own ssson?"

"When did Vee get a boyfriend? How did I miss this? My child has grown so quickly ..."

"Well … you kinda misssss a lot."

"Tell me, do you think they're in love?"

"Who knowsss? They’re young, they’re horny … it happensss."

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

_"Patton Cade, please marry me."_

_"What?"_

_"I said: please marry me. Let’s have a family. I know, we’re too young, but we’re not, I’m almost twenty-two, and how do you know this isn’t a sign saying we belong together?"_

_"How do you know it’s not a sign saying get new checkup?"_

_"Because I know it’s not. I love you, and this baby we will adopt-"_

_"Logan, I know I would be the last person to say this, but this is crazy." _

"This is crazy."

_" Maybe it is, Patton."_

"Maybe it is, Virgil."

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ Awww Vee, you don’t have to look so stricken! There is no need to be afraid to catch some love in the air. I was just like you when I fell in love-

Yes, there was a time when I flew higher. It was the time when I was the wild boy running free, never afraid of anything. Now when I see him again, I feel the blazing fire called love. The wild boy has never seen a wildfire before, and I know he needs me to be there for him, to share the tip to wake up from the fever dream-but I’m trapped in nowhere. 

I still remember all these blank and tranquil years before he walked into my life and doing that seems to dry up all my tears. I ran free and fast, but the sensation of breeze brushing my hair feels too realistic that it only reminds me that my wild days are past. 

But you can’t blame me for missing the mountains! I miss the wild adventurous life I had, I miss the dizzy heights I climbed 'til the entire Sun shined on my face, I miss all the manic magic days when I continued to find four-leaf clover after another and another, and I miss the dark depressing nights that didn’t feel as bad as it sounds when he was by my side.

N̷o̷w̷ I̷’̷m̷ t̷a̷k̷i̷n̷g̷ o̷u̷t̷ a̷l̷l̷ o̷f̷ t̷h̷e̷ o̷r̷a̷n̷g̷e̷ p̷i̷l̷l̷ b̷o̷t̷t̷l̷e̷s̷ f̷r̷o̷m̷ m̷y̷ m̷e̷d̷i̷c̷i̷n̷e̷ c̷a̷b̷i̷n̷e̷t̷ .̷.̷.̷

I miss the mountains, the highs and lows, and all the climbing and all the falling. Life without them is just boring, sometimes a little adventure sparks up the liveliness inside you. Even the cill wild wind blew, the sting snow gave, and the soak rain showered-I missed the pain I used to be able to feel.

A̷n̷d̷ n̷o̷w̷ I̷’̷m̷ o̷p̷e̷n̷i̷n̷g̷ t̷h̷e̷m̷ .̷.̷.̷

Some say mountains make you crazy, and I’ll admit it can be true sometimes. The loneliness wanders around to h(a)unt you, but here it is safe and sound. Oh, my mind is somewhere hazy, and suddenly I’m not so sure whether my memory is correct … but then I feel my feet on the ground, and I soon notice that everything here is balanced. And on an even keel, everything is perfect-in other words, nothing's real. 

A̷n̷d̷ p̷o̷u̷r̷i̷n̷g̷ t̷h̷e̷m̷ i̷n̷ t̷h̷e̷ t̷o̷i̷l̷e̷t̷ .̷.̷.̷

I truly miss the mountains. After the lonely climb, I would have been wandering through the wilderness and spending all my time where the air is clear and cuts you like a knife, gazing at the starry sky that reminds me of him. I miss my life I used to have ...

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"You sure about this, popsss?"

"You think it’s a bad idea?"

"Oh, not at all! I think it’sss a great idea. In fact, I think you’re very, very brave."

"What will your father think?"

"Nothing. If he doesn’t know."

And just like that, he reached out and gave the toilet a flush.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

♔ “REM HOLY FUCK-”

“You just perfectly recreated that meme-”

“He said yes!”

"Congra-"

Brothery tackle? Brothery tackle! Why _wouldn't_ you do that?

“So what’s so *special* about our purple prince V?”

“He owns a pet tarantula named Titania?”

“Holy hell.”

“I know.”

“This kid is precious-”

“I KNOW.”

“Oh, did you know people swallow 8 spiders a year while they sleep-”

“FALSEHOOD!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And after that Roman cleaned up his room since kazillion ... two weeks.
> 
> Luckily for Roman and everyone afraid of creepy crawly death dealers, people do NOT swallow 8 spiders in a year!
> 
> *Notice*The*Parallel*Between*Logicality*And*Prinxiety*
> 
> This parallel between the old couple and the young couple is also intended in the original show.
> 
> The YouTube comments joke about how 'Perfect for you' sounds like something a certain Slushie-loving German-lying phychopathic and loving seventeen boy would sing, and even though NtN came out earlier, I have to admit I can see where the claim comes from.
> 
> Also Remus would've totally helped the songwriting because *We*Need*Brothery*Creativity*Twins*Moment*
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the third chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	4. It's Gonna Be Good / He's Not Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life lesson: trying *too hard* to be *fine* never works. 
> 
> Also dinnertime is always the best time to drop the shocking news.
> 
> Bonus point if you have a family guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To quote some YouTube comments for It's Gonna be Good:
> 
> 'This is the happiest song of the soundtrack ... and then once it ends the bomb drops.'
> 
> 'Part of me wishes the play ended right after this song.'
> 
> And the title of next piece is pretty self-explanatory, so I'll let you flow along the story!

☸ It's gonna be good!

Even if that statement is _technically_ grammatically incorrect, it _is_ going to be a good day!

Two weeks and it's all working just the way it was supposed to be! I knew it would! Should I call him? No? Maybe not. Actually, never mind.

"Hello? Oh, hi Loggie!"

"Hello, Pattoncake."

"Everything's great here! Fabulously fantastic! I disinfected the entire house, (Cool!) rewired the computer, (Oh, you did?) and did some decoupage!"

"That is an admirable achievement, Patton."

"I know!"

"I'll see you in the evening."

"Okay. Buh-bye! Hmm. Next. I think I’ll retile the roof!"

And just like that, I'll professionally and intentionally ignore the last line.

Yes, it's going to be another great day. The sex is still amazing, and we don't stay up that late anymore. It's almost been a month and Patton has been as happy as the first time I met him. Yes, everything is great!

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☥ “I’d ask you in, but it’s too soon.”

“Violeta, we’ve been going out for 9 weeks and 3 days. Don’t I get to meet your family?”

“We wha-”

“We’ve been going out for 9 weeks and 3 days?”

“You keep count? You’re so the girl. And no.”

“Buuuuuuuuu-”

“No buts. Not even with the sad puppy look.”

Oh no, that only intensified the sad puppy look.

“Virgil!”

Blod, italicize, underline, and highlight that last ‘oh no.’

“And this must be Romeo!” 

And put that ‘oh no’ in the biggest font size possible.

“Dad, It’sss Roman.”

“Well, it’s actually Roman, but I do not mind being Romeo for our beautiful purple Juliet!”

Dammit, can’t you stop being smooth as hell and bona fide theatre kid at the same time, Lucia?!

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Roman. I'm Logan Lobe, one of Virgil's dads, but please do not hesitate to call me Logan. Come in, why don't you join us for dinner?” 

Dad, you _cannot_ put your arm around Roman and usher him inside … so _casually_ . ‘Casually’ was never a thing in our household. Don’t you realize that, dad, or are you just _trying_ to appear normal? For Roman or for me? Whatever the answer is, it’s just … _pathetic_.

“Um Dad, Roman can't really stay, he's got, um…” 

“It's gonna be good!” 

“… Homework.”

“Why wouldn’t it be good?”

“Surgery.” 

“We'll sit right down together like a happy family should!” 

“Rabies!”

“Nice excuses, Virge!”

Heavenly freaking dammit. Don’t play alongside him, Lucia!

“Thisss isss going to be interesssting~” 

And we'll eat and talk and laugh and joke. Sure, my pride, my brood and me, none of them even matter! Dad, you keep saying 'it's gonna be good, you'll see!' but can't you remember? It _never_ happened. I just know there will be smiles and chats (like every _normal_ dinner should be) and just like that we'll all be all okay! No, never!

"Wow, this house has a unique interior! Is it inspired by ... some ancient Roman-"

“Actually, this house was designed and built by dad. His major was architecture, and he was especially interested in Roman architecture.”

"That's so cool! And double cooler since I, _Roman_ Lucia is here!"

Somehow his confident wink _still_ haunts me in the dreams to these days. 

"If you were architecture kid, (dude that's not even a thing-) Mr. Lobe, I am the theatre kid!"

"He's THE theatre kid."

“Oh, I remember you.”

"You do!"

"You do?"

"Weren't you in the play last year? (Yep!) I remember Virgil playing the piano ceaselessly throughout the show. Even thought I had to leave in the midway."

Well, to your defense, at lease you _managed_ to come, dad. The last time you were present on any concert or recital I participated in was when I was in 5th grade.

"Then I can confidently tell you Virge _absolutely_ slayed it!"

Considering how this conversation happened as dad (the sky blue one, for your convenience) served and cleared a full dinner in super-fast motion and we grabbed forkfuls where we can like some wacky game, I'll let you decide on to what extent this dinner is going _fine_.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

♔ Oh, that gold and white cake looks excellent, señor! Sans the 18 sky blue _blazing_ candles dripping wax on it. Hold on, I just felt someone brushing my shoulder as if they’re just leaving? But isn’t everyone in here? I mean, there are four people including me, and there are four plates-

“Okay … guess what … today’s the special day!”

“Oh oh I know! It’s someone’s birthday!”

“Bingo! 10 points for Roman!”

“Yay!”

Nice job building a good impression, Roman Lucia! But the reaction of Mr. Lobe and Vee is so … chilling? Silent? It’s the calmness right before a hurricane, like they’re expecting some drama to touch down … 

“Whose birthday is it, V? I know it isn’t yours yet.”

Jesus, it was only a 5 second of small pause, but it was the most uncomfortable silence I have ever been in. It felt like I asked the question that must not be spoken and was suddenly thrown to the darkest corner of the universe as a punishment where I couldn’t even hear my own breathing. Yes, I am a big space opera and Sci-Fi nerd, (yay Star Wars, yay Star Trek, and yay Doctor Who!) but I know science enough to know that the dramatically echoing _boom_ sound effect can never happen in the real space. (But we appreciate the hard work of sound effect artists.) Anyway, I saw how Mr. Lobe’s dark navy eyes lost the sharp glimmer in a blink, how Virge’s heterochromatic eyes (green left one and purple right one, one of the many reasons I fell for him) were clouded with complicated emotions and lips frozen, how Mr. Cade’s soft sky blue eyes … looked so … _innocent_.

“… My brother’s.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a brother. Is he is colle-”

“I don’t.” 

“Huh?”

“He died before I was born.”

Oh my god.

“What? What is it?”

Blod, italicize, underline, and highlight that last ‘oh my god.’ Mr. Cade sounded … genuinely confused … and lost ...

“Patton ... he's not here.”

And Mr. Lobe sounds so broken … 

“Pattoncake, I know you know.” 

That is actually a sweet nickname if only the situation was not the opposite of sweet ...

“Do you feel he's still real?” 

Oh, maybe that sensation I felt before mr. Cade brought the cake was the spirit of V’s dead brother? Was he checking on me? Wow, things just got radically creepy.

“Pat, it's just not so ...” 

I just noticed Virgil … how his eyes just lost emotion … Oh Vee, how did you learn to live with the unimaginable? Do I even have the right to pity you? Am I reacting in the right way? He didn’t seem to notice me approaching and holding his hands. Or maybe … he was too distressed to care about it.

“Why is it you still believe?” 

Because the loss of a child is _hard_ … What else can be the answer?

“Do you dream, or do you grieve?” 

From Vee’s eyes, I can see he’s doing neither. He has never met his brother so he can’t dream about him being alive, and he can’t grieve at the death he hasn’t even seen. But how is he supposed to react to the death he hasn’t experienced but affecting him deeply? Does anybody happen to know how the hell to do this?

“You've got to let him go.” 

Ah yes, doing the impossible. I bet V’s brother is also adopted, but still, how can you let go of the child you raised?

“He's been dead 16 years …” 

I just felt it. The dreadful flow of time. The cycles of moments that the words don’t reach after the moments when you’re in so deep it feels easier to just swim down. As the suffering too terrible to name threatens the family, Mr. Lobe and Mr. Cade must have held Virgil as tight as they could and tried to push away the unimaginable … 

“No, my love, he's not here.”

This hurts too much just by listening. Can I please leave?

“This is fucked.”

Ouch.

“Language, Virgil.”

“Oh, excuse my _Spanish_ , (Hey-!) father. But still, fuck this.”

“Vir-”

“Roman, leave.”

“V-”

“Just LEAVE!”

Nonononono Virge you can’t just storm out like that and leave me behind- even though I love my dark strange stormcloud- if awkwardness is a rain of knives then I’m already passed out- I _have to_ be by his side- if I don’t what kind of boyfriend am I- but not before I say-

“Um, it was wonderful to meet you both, Mr. Lobe and Mr. Cade … ?”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☥ And this is exactly why I did not, no, _never_ wanted to let him in.

No one else must not dare to violate my secretive familiar cycle! I w̷a̷s̷t̷e̷d̷ spent my entire life pretending I’m something better than these broken parts, something other than this mess that my family and I am because and only because then I don't have to look at it. And If I don't look at it no one gets to look at it. That way no one can really see how fucked up I am! Why does everyone assume being _perfect_ also guarantees the immunity to mental instability?! 

Why do I always have to fear, or at least tense up, whenever a stranger interacts with my family? Why do I always have to be the victim of the crime I didn’t know I was born in? Being part of this family was a crime-and I didn’t even choose to do that! Well, I _did_ choose to be part of their family they _did_ seem like a nicest couple in the whole world when I first met them. But that’s what everyone else does when they adopt a kid. Still, they were the best parents an adopted kid could ever get. Once or twice it felt like a bolt or two fell off, but dad (should I add an additional ‘s?’) tried his best to stay on the track. But now the centripetal force is gone, and this family is off from the orbit, and we’ll be lost in space forever. 

What if I don’t understand every word they said? What if I failed to translate the sound they produce into a list of vocabularies that each hold certain meaning and are bound together by grammar to hold the greater meaning? Then would it hurt less? Maybe I should try learning Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, and/or Korean. Those four are the hardest languages to learn for an English speaker as observed by Foreign Service Institute of the U.S. Department of State. I know they don’t use Latin alphabet and sound nothing like English either. If the difference of how English sounds compared to French is that of sans-serif and serif fonts, (but I will assign Comic Sans to Spanish _only_ to annoy the certain theatre kid) how would they sound compared to English? I bet it’s more than the difference between printed and cursive. But for some people misophonia is triggered by non-vocal noises like tapping or chewing ... so I guess it's just my personal issue. Isn't it pathetic? A kid who hurts from listening to their family's voice! 

Maybe misophonia _is_ a type of synesthesia after all. Well, it is already suggested that misophonia is related to, or perhaps a variety of, synesthesia. Synesthesia is often explained as an ability to associate color to numbers and/or letters, most possibly because both of them are the concepts linked to vision. But for some people it links two or more senses: like ‘hearing color’ or even ‘tasting word.’ For the case of misophonia specifically, it would be ‘hearing emotion,’ but only limited to negative ones. It’s a musical piece in minor chords, and a number line only with negative numbers. Plus it _is_ different from getting emotional while listening to Joe Hisaishi or John Williams’ composition. Misophonia is a function that converts the disturbing noise into a gut-coiling anxiety, though I’m still not sure whether it would be surjective or injective-even bijective-function. 

I wonder how multilingualism would intertwine with those. Would the disturbing sounds ‘feel’ or ‘seem’ different if they’re in different languages? Is the process of translation a sort of function too? Then would it be surjective, injective, bijective, or neither? From my experience of taking Spanish _and_ French at the same time, I can say palettes of languages do have different tints. French is more bold and flashy compared to English, while Spanish is more bright and vivid. I’ll admit, color is a nice analogy to use when explaining the translation among concepts that use sense perception. Everyone can visualize color without a great effort; even those who are color blind understand the slightest contrast of various colors. I guess I _was_ an artist after all- oh heavens, please no-

I am beyond tired of hearing dads! I wish I couldn’t understand English, didn’t choose this family, or even was never born! But even if I was not an English speaker, I would be able to pick up the negative emotion anyway. Ugh, why can’t I just chop off my ears? Because I’m selfish enough to enjoy the music. Or I’m a too big coward to do that to myself. That is why. I survive long enough to become the next Sweeney Todd, or die like Vincent Van Gogh wanted. There are no other options; that is what feels like to live with misophonia. Out of our five senses, we use hearing for only 11% of the information processing anyway. Sight does the most job by 83%, and others - smell by 3.5%, touch by 1.5%, and taste by 1% - are those guys in the group project who just do the bare minimum to earn the credit. So it won’t be a great loss if I relinquish the ability to hear, right? Arithmetically it’s only 1/9 of the sense perception! 

Oh, was I talking too much? But that’s what I do to distract myself from the reality: weaving various academic subjects - like mathematics, linguistics, _and_ psychology - to justify my own sappy claim. Knowledge is never emotional. It is always stable-unlike my fucked up household. Dad always say 'scientia potentia est' or 'knowledge is power' - and we used to joke about how Francis Bacon sounds like 'France is bacon' - but we hurt more because we know more. Some argue the crime committed from ignorance is worse, yet I'll say ignorance is actually a blessing. Even if knowing hurts, I'll rather drown myself in the intellectual fascination of learning that cringing under the emotional pressure, because logic always stays true and such consistency is what I need more than anything to sustain. Heh, Logic. It is THE one thing dad taught me right! But still-

“CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE ME FUCKING ALONE?!”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“Patton, what happened to the new meds?”

“We now have the happiest septic tank on the block!”

“You-Jesus, Pat. They were working.”

“Well … they weren’t, really.”

“We’ll get a new round, we’ll call Doctor Picani-”

“No.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, _no_.”

“Patton, look, I know this is hard.”

“You know. _Really? What, exactly, do you know, Logan Lobe?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The tears of the young who go their way, last a day; But the grief is long of the old who stay."
> 
> -John Townsend Trowbridge
> 
> And just like that, everything goes downhill!
> 
> Yes it took me 4 chapters to realize Patton might sound too OOC, but that's partially my fault for failing to write in-character, and I assumed 'delusional bipolar depressive' on the story summary was enough for an explanation. 
> 
> Again, I became a bit personal on V's part, from 'tensing up at a stranger's interaction' to juxtapositions among misophonia, synesthesia, and multilingualism. It has been a theory that bugged me for awhile, and although I didn't decide on it yet, I do not doubt that there are connections among those three, or at least they *function* in a similar system. But at least I can state that they are not bijective functions! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the fourth - and possibly the last non-angsty haha you heard nothing - chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	5. You Don't Know / I Am The One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drama. The suffering. The struggle. The interference. And the ignorance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'You Don't Know' and 'I Am The One' are both one of my favorites from the entire Next to Normal track, only falling behind the Top 3! (I won't tell what they are...yet)
> 
> Especially the epic elec-guitar intro of YDK, smooth transition to IATO, and how IATO changes from solo to duet to trio... mmmm.
> 
> I strongly recommend reading this chapter with those pieces blasting from earbuds, heck even the entire track!

☸  “You know. _Really? What, exactly, do you know, Logan Lobe?_ ”

“Patton, I know you’re hurting. I am, too. Trust me-”

Our relationship is stuck in the hedgehog’s dilemma. The hedgehogs move close to one another to share heat during cold weather, yet they must remain apart to avoid hurting themselves with their sharp spines. Even though they desire an intimate relationship, or at least an intention of a close reciprocal relationship, it cannot happen for the inevitable reasons, or even the unchangeable fate. But I will never stop embracing him even if my hands and arms are bloodily scarred forever.

“Do you wake up in the morning and need help to lift your head?” 

Heavy head in the morning is commonly associated with tiredness, brain fog, headaches, neck pain, and dizziness, and in more serious cases, concussion or brain damage. Fortunately Patton’s morning haziness has been only caused by restless sleep that could’ve been cured with a gentle pat (no pun intended). I can feel the softest sensation of Patton’s curls licking my fingers even in my sleep. I used to be a non-dreaming sleeper, but when Patton entered my life he managed to enter my semi consciousness too. 

“Do you read obituaries and feel jealous of the dead?” 

If I see your name on the newspaper, or hear your name from a complete stranger, how am I supposed to react? How many seconds I spent praying for you to get better will be in vain? How can I live without you by my side? Please don’t be jealous of the dead, I can never live without you! I do not doubt you’ll be allowed to heaven, Elysion, or Valhalla (though you can’t even hurt a fly so you shouldn’t be allowed to the last one) but I’m uncertain whether I would be able to reunite with you after death … 

“It's like living on a cliffside, not knowing when you'll dive!” 

And every day and night I prayed for you to not cross the asymptote. In calculus, a function 'approaches' certain value (called 'limit') but never really 'hits' it. I don't know the asymptote of what 'functions' you, but it prevents you from erasing your existence from this real world, so I am immensely grateful for that. Even when you're getting closer and closer to death, as long as you don't really hit it, one day I would be able to save you. One day ...

“Do you know, _do you know_ , what it's like to die alive?” 

I think I do. It is the sensation that hits you when the world that once had color fades to white and gray and black, and when tomorrow terrifies you but you'll die if you look back. You’re trapped in the inevitable and unchangeable flow of fate and forced to survive as everything you loved drastically changes. You will forever be haunted by hiraeth: homesickness or nostalgia, an earnest longing or desire, or a sense of regret-of the home you will never be able to return to. I have a mouth and I must not scream in order to not contribute to the already present disorder-

“See? You don't know! I know you don't know about _anything_ ! You say that you're hurting, it sure doesn't show! How can you be hurting when you seem so _normal_?” 

I remain silent and (barely) manage to swallow all of my pain solely because I don’t want to add the burden he's barely carrying right now. If I tell him that his condition also affects mine, will his illness get worse ... from _guilt_? But that is the polar opposite of what I want: I don't want him to get hurt as much as I don't want to get hurt. I lost the count of times I desperately wanted to carry his burden instead of him a long ago. Didn't I vow to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health? God, I have failed to be a loyal husband.

“You don't know that it lays me so low, because you always take things literally and never read between the lines!”

Well, for once I have to take the statement literally, because he just collapsed down to the floor and sunk low, sobbing hysterically. There was nothing I could've done other than kneeling by his side and embracing him tightly. I know he doesn't want to hurt me. He never did. I know he knows this as well. He just needs to let his negative emotions explode. Tonight is just one of worse moments. It shall pass as well-it has to be.

“When you say let go, and all I say is: _you don't know!_ ”

Maybe he is true. Maybe I do not understand the concept of pain, both physical and mental ones. Or maybe once I was able to fell them, and at one point I chose to be insensitive. Though no one can ever relate to, or even attempt to feel the suffering he has been under for 16 years. It's not just a common pain he's trapped in-it is _torture_. It is the sensation that you're screaming, but you never make a sound. Or it is the feeling that you're falling, but you never hit the ground. To elaborate further, imagine: as you wonder why your vocal cord chose to perish before you can even attempt, you're falling in a forest, unable to defy gravity. There's nobody around who can even attempt to save you, so you spend your last moments questioning whether you'll ever really crash or even make a sound. Yet in order to make a sound the ground has to be solid enough, which only raises the chance of not surviving. Such thoughts just keeps on rushing at you, day-by-day-by-day-by-day. 

Maybe I _do_ comprehend the concept of pain after all.

“You don't know, and you’ll never know, what it's like to live that way!”

No one would be able to do that. Ever. 

“Like a refugee, a fugitive, forever on the run-” 

“Pat-”

“If it gets me it will kill me, but I _don't_ know what I've done!”

“Patton!” 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A sudden silence, as if the concept of sound disappeared in a blink. 

“Patton, can you hear me?”

No sound coming out. Just a pair of big, round sky blue eyes opening and closing.

“Can you please tell me what it is you're afraid of?” 

Lightening of terror striking the eyes, pupils darkling in an agonizingly steady rhythm.

“Can you tell me why I'm afraid it's me?” 

A confused, slow shake of head. The golden brown curls bounced off lightly.

“Then can I touch you?” 

This time, a timid, small nod. 

“We've been fine for so long now… how can something go wrong that I can't see?” 

Uncomfortably long stillness of searching for the answer of the unanswerable.

“Oh, I think I know the answer for the last one. It’s because I'm holding on … and I won't let go. Forever and ever.” 

Fingers gently rubbing the palm and backs of soft hands. Streak of cold sensation from touching a silver ring that began to lose its glitter. 

“I just thought you should know this, Patton …” 

A short stop before taking a deep breath, presumably to organize the clouding thoughts.

"I am the one who knows you. Plus the one who cares. Also the one who's always been there. And I _am_ the one who's helped you ..." 

Undeniable truth raining like April shower. They hurt less m̷o̷r̷e̷ only because they were s̷t̷i̷l̷l̷ a̷r̷e̷ true in the past.

"And if you think that I just don't give a damn, it is totally fine Patton, but then you just don't know who I am."

Two pairs of eyes lost the focus, one in helpless desperation, and another in unspeakable confusion.

"Patton, could you leave me?" 

“Hey, Dad, it'sss me.” 

“Could you let me go under?” 

“Why can't you sssee?”

A pair of sky blue orbs mesmerized by the invisible, locked at the certain point in the air. 

A pair of deep blue orbs continuing to drown in the sky blueness, in the sheer hope of catching an attention.

A pair of hazel orbs, almost gold, scanning the shade of blue, trying to notify himself. 

“Will you watch as I drown and wonder why?” I̷ w̷o̷n̷d̷e̷r̷ w̷h̷y̷ .̷.̷.̷

"Patton, are you bleeding? O̷r̷ r̷a̷t̷h̷e̷r̷ w̷a̷i̷t̷i̷n̷g̷?̷ H̷o̷w̷ a̷b̷o̷u̷t̷ w̷i̷s̷s̷s̷h̷i̷n̷g̷?̷ A̷r̷e̷ y̷o̷u̷ s̷s̷s̷s̷s̷u̷r̷e̷ y̷o̷u̷ a̷r̷e̷ N̷O̷T̷ w̷a̷n̷t̷i̷n̷g̷ a̷l̷l̷ t̷h̷a̷t̷ h̷e̷ c̷a̷n̷'̷t̷ g̷i̷v̷e̷?̷  Or are you bruised? Maybe even broken? A̷r̷e̷n̷'̷t̷ y̷o̷u̷ h̷u̷r̷t̷i̷n̷g̷?̷ O̷r̷ a̷r̷e̷ y̷o̷u̷ h̷e̷a̷l̷i̷n̷g̷?̷ C̷a̷n̷ i̷t̷ b̷e̷ .̷.̷.̷ a̷r̷e̷ y̷o̷u̷ h̷o̷p̷i̷n̷g̷ f̷o̷r̷ a̷ l̷i̷f̷e̷ t̷o̷ l̷i̷v̷e̷?"

"Does it help you to know that so am I? W̷e̷l̷l̷,̷ s̷s̷s̷o̷ a̷m̷ I̷!̷"

Maybe it does help. Maybe it doesn't. 

"Tell me what to do, or at least who to be." L̷o̷o̷k̷ a̷t̷ m̷e̷-̷

"So I can see what you see, _please_?" A̷n̷d̷ y̷o̷u̷'̷l̷l̷ s̷e̷e̷-̷

"I am I̷ a̷m̷ the one who'll hold you, and I am I̷ a̷m̷ the one who'll stay. I am I̷ a̷m̷ also the one who won't walk away! I̷ w̷o̷n̷'̷t̷ w̷a̷l̷k̷ a̷w̷a̷y̷!̷"

It's a perfectly synchronized cacophony, threatening harmony and a mellifluous pressure. Yet he can clearly see and hear one person and only one person. 

"I am I̷ a̷m̷ the one who'll hear you, and now you tell me that I won't give a damn ... Y̷o̷u̷ d̷o̷n̷'̷t̷ g̷i̷v̷e̷ a̷ d̷a̷m̷n̷?̷ But I know you know who I am w̷h̷o̷ I̷ a̷m̷.̷" 

"Yeah, that's who I am, Patton. Popssss. The one who always listens to you. 'Cause I'm holding on-"

And finally Patton chose this exact moment to open his mouth again. 

“... You keep saying you hurt like me.” 

“And I won't let go, no, never.” 

“... You say that you know …”

“Yeah, I thought you should know, Patton! Popssss!” 

“... But you still _don't_ know!” 

“But Patton, Popssss, I am the one who knows you-” 

“I _know_ you don't know!” 

“I am the one who cares about you, Pat- Po-“

"You say that you're hurting-"

"I am the one who's always been there!" 

"I know it ain't so!"

"Wait, where are you going?"

"̷Y̷e̷s̷s̷s̷,̷ c̷o̷m̷e̷ t̷o̷ m̷e̷!̷"̷

"You don't know anything, why don't you just go?"

"But you _do_ know that I am the one who needs you!"

"'Cause it lays me low- wait, I don't even know what 'it' refers to anymore ..."

"And if you think that I just don't give a damn ..." 

"When I say 'you don't know' ..."

"Then you just don't know who I am, Patton ..."

Y̷o̷u̷ j̷u̷s̷s̷s̷t̷ d̷o̷n̷'̷t̷ k̷n̷o̷w̷ w̷h̷o̷ I̷ a̷m̷ .̷.̷.̷

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frankly speaking, I don't think I did the best to depict the suffering both Patton AND Logan are going through. 
> 
> But then, the RIGHT words to ever describe the suffering of mental illness patients AND families of them do NOT exist. 
> 
> It is the VARIANT of hedgehog's dilemma, but not quite the EXACT dilemma: None of them ever want to hurt each other but they end up being hurt anyway. That is what it's like to live as a family as a mental illness patient.
> 
> And it is one of the greater reasons I am grateful for this show and did not hesitate to place it alongside Hamilton (the musical that kickstarted the theatre love) as my most favorite musical: it did not hide the evident fact that families of mentally ill patients suffer too. So far NtN is the only media I've ever seen who's done that. (If anyone knows other books or movies that shines spotlight on the families of mentally ill patients, please tell me!)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the fifth chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	6. Superboy and the Invisible Boy / I'm Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A living son who can't be seen and a dead son who can't be heard.
> 
> Meanwhile the couple reaches out to the new doctor.

☥ “Vir-”

“CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE ME FUCKING ALONE?!”

I would be lying if I say I did not feel sorry right after screaming that. Oh wait, I got an idea-

“Actually, Roman, can you give me a second?”

“Sure! Take your time!”

I could imagine his excited puppy look as I took a blackwood skull sculpture and my hairy princess out from the tank.

“Hey Roman~”

Oh god, his look was absolutely _priceless_. He perfectly recreated _The Scream_ by Edvard Munch while trying to silence the yelp. Yep, totally worth it!

“You wanted to come in?”

“Oh, uh, I mean, yes!”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

♔ So … this is Virgil’s sanctuary, huh. From the hallway his door was white, but from the inside it’s pitch black with intricate silver spider web design. No doubt that V painted it himself. In the cube surrounded by rich wine colored walls and dark wooden floor, the brightest thing is the lighting of the tank where the creepy crawly death dealer … V’s pet tarantula happily rests. Aside from the emo bands and _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ (mmm, _excellent_ taste) posters, towering bookshelves occupy the wall, and I won’t be surprised if they fall out one day. The titles of the thick books, aside from the ones I can assume to be academic-related, are … concerningly terrifying? _Flowers for Algernon_ , _H. P. Lovecraft_ , _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_ … 

Virge hugged his knees at the corner of his purple bed, making himself look more like a tiny black kitten. I barely managed to suppress the great desire to pat his head before taking a seat at his desk. Aside from the threatening tower of textbooks on the left side, the desk is surprisingly tidy. Ok, Roman Lucia, do your job! As a proud multitasker on anything _not_ related to academics, I had zero problem focusing on my craft as I continued the conversation with Virgil. 

“When he gets like this? He’s useless. He can’t use the phone. Can’t drive.”

“I bet he’s got great pills. I mean, not that I would go there. That shit’s inorganic.”

“And totally ineffective, apparently.”

“I’m old-school, y'know? Dying breed. All the preppies and the jocks are raiding their parents’ medicine cabinets and popping Xanax and snorting Adderall.”

“Really? Hold on, aren’t you a jock too?”

“¿No? I’m the almighty theatre kid!”

“But you’re like 6’ 1”-”

“Or maybe you are the small one, señor 5’ 6”-”

“ _HISSSSS_ ”

“Did you just- anyway, but me, I’m the master of the lost art of making a pipe out of an apple, ta-da!”

“Yeah, you’re the MacGyver of pot, _señor_ Roman. René Magritte must be proud: ‘this is not a pipe.’”

“ _De nada_ , _señor_ Virgil. Here, would you like to give it a try?”

“You promise this’ll help?”

“Um … No!” 

“In that case … I’d rather not.”

“What?”

“So, use your imagination, señor creatividad. ( _ohmygod he did it again-_ ) There are two boys: Superboy and Invisible Boy. They are son of steel and son of air-the former is a hero, a lover, a prince, but the latter … he’s not there.”

I can already feel where this story is going.

“The son of steel is everything a kid oughtta be: he's immortal, forever alive. And there’s me … ”

… who’s overshadowed by the dead spirit? 

“I wish I could fly … and magically appear and disappear … just like how he haunts this family. If I could, I'd fly far away from here … but I’m stuck at this home for another year … will I ever be _free_ … from this hell?” 

Mr. Cade, I didn't hear you coming?! You probably chose the best and worst moment to appear! But to his defence, the concept of ‘gently opening the door’ never existed at my home. I maybe should’ve had ‘casually’ munch down the apple pipe and erase the evidence, but I just had enough time to hide the pipe and fan the air as V whipped around to confront him and distract him from my artwork. Nice move, V!

“He's the one you wish would appear, isn’t he? The Superboy’s your hero, forever your son, but he is NOT here! The Invisible Boy is the one who’s here- _I_ am here!” 

“Oh, sweetheart, you know that's not true! You're our little pride and joy, our perfect plan … You know I love you-I love you as much as I can, right, Vee?”

It _sounds_ right, but it doesn’t _feel_ right. At least, that’s what I _assume_ how Virge has felt as a beat of heavy silence landed. He oughtta be their little (emphasize on that) pride and joy considering his ongoing list of achievements, though the ‘perfect plan’ kinda bugs me … I do not doubt that Mr. C loves Virge from the way he looks at him-it’s dripping honey. But then he said ‘as much as I can’ … which I assume … was never enough to reach the average amount of love a child grows within. Mr. Cade must haven’t been able to handle the awkwardness too, since he began to silently retreat. As he grabbed the door handle Virgil spoke up again, overflowing with the desperation of a person about to drown yet quieter than a shaky breath. 

“Please, I beg you, take a look at the Invisible Boy … Here he is, clear as the day … why can’t you see him? Please look closely and find him before he fades away, dad …”

But he is not there. Even though everyone can see him, he is simply not there in the hazy Cade wonderland. 

_Holyheavenhejustsatonmylap-_

And I responded by pulling out the apple pipe and offering it to him for the second time. Fan-freaking-tastically smooth as hell. _I know_. 

“… He's not there. Can’t you see it too?”

And this time, he took the pipe from me. I wanted to give him a bone-crushing bear hug. Maybe I should have. Maybe I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have introduced him to the tainted world of drugs in the first place. No, but what was I meant to do? How else could I have relieved his suffering?

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ The waiting room of every clinic, counselor’s office, and psychiatric center I’ve been to was always cold. Not just the cold from air conditioning, but there is the lingering chill that paralyses your lungs and takes away the ability to speak like Ursula did with Ariel. Or maybe … the freezing atmosphere is a collection of breathes from poor unfortunate souls who yearn to be liberated from the pain … just like me. The only soothing thing in this room is the rhythmic sound of Logan scribbling in a notebook. His handwriting is neat and straight; even his cursive can be easily mistaken as printed.

“Patton, Let’s not get discouraged. I found a doctor who would treat you without the drugs. There’s someone out there for you-in the depression chat rooms, they say it’s like dating, you have to keep going until you find the right match.”

“They have depression chat rooms?”

“And this doctor’s supposed to be fantastic. A real rock star. In fact, Doctor Picani is the one who recommended him first-turns out his brother is also a psychiatrist! Plus three different women at work gave me his name too.” 

“Oh, three women at work know I’m nuts?”

Because _apparently_ , my family is NOT the only one who knows I’m mental. Logan, don’t lie to me. I did not miss that half beat of silence desperately searching for an inoffensive reply. 

“Uhh… Ah, Doctor Picani!”

And I did not miss the relieved look when he appeared just in time either. 

“Patton? This way, please.” 

This new doctor … doesn’t look like a doctor at all. With a rider jacket and sunglasses, he radiates the teenager rockstar vibe rather than a doctor vibe. And his Starbucks tumbler is too … flashy, something that doesn’t fit the atmosphere of the clinic. At least his inner office is more psychological, whatever that even means. It’s more clean with simple monochrome wooden furniture and a black leather couch. There’s only one lamp hanging from the ceiling that shines spotlight on him, as if it draws every attention to him- 

“Oh, what did you just say?”

“I said welcome. Have a seat. It’s nice to meet you. As Emile might’ve told you, name’s Jeremy Picani, but please, call me Remy.” 

I couldn’t drop the suspicious tension as I took a seat. There’s something … mesmerizing? hypnotizing? about him. He looks like the one who would lead me to the foggy forest that seems inescapable … 

“Let’s get it on now, baby …”

There’s the weird rockstar spotlight thing again!

“Excuse me, what?”

“I said, let’s get started. Are you … nervous, Patton?”

“I am, a little. A bit out of breath. Tingly, actually. Now you go.”

Dialogue is just like table tennis. You throw a shot, and you receive it back. As long as this consistent rhythm is continued, nothing will go wrong, right?

“Well, let’s start by getting to know each other a bit. Psychotherapy and medication work best in tandem, but we can try the first alone, and see how far we get. Why don’t you tell me-, babe… What's your history? Where’d you go and who’d you see?”

“Um. My history? Well-I was diagnosed bipolar, um, wow, sixteen years ago? But it turned out bipolar didn’t totally cover it.”

“Often the best we can do is put names on collections of symptoms. It’s possible bipolar has more in common with schizophrenia than depression.”

“Huh, when I was young, my mother called me “high-spirited.” She would know. She was so high-spirited they banned her from the PTA. She remains high-spirited to these days-she was happier than me when I was married.”

“Sometimes there’s a predisposition to illness, but actual onset is only triggered by some … traumatic event.”

“Well, to be honest, I never know what to say when I have to go over all this. It starts to sound like some story I tell that’s about some other person entirely.”

“In that case, hun, why don’t you tell me about the last time you truly felt happy. I’ll take the silence as an agreement-were you happy when you got married?”

“… I thought I was.”

“Huh, there’s a difference between being happy and just thinking you’re happy?”

“Most people who think they’re happy just haven’t thought about it enough. Most people who think they’re happy are actually just … stupid.”

“I see. Were you happy when you met your son for the first time?” 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚕ “My son?”

Sounds interesting. I’m all ears. Take your time!

“Yeah, your son. Tell me about him.”

“About my son?”

“Hun, why is he still around? Who is he? What is he?” 

Popsss, why can’t you anssswer? I know you know who I am! I am what you want me to be! A̷n̷d̷ I̷'̷m̷ y̷o̷u̷r̷ w̷o̷r̷s̷s̷s̷t̷ f̷e̷a̷r̷-̷y̷o̷u̷'̷l̷l̷ f̷i̷n̷d̷ i̷t̷ i̷n̷ m̷e̷ i̷f̷ y̷o̷u̷ c̷o̷m̷e̷ c̷l̷o̷s̷s̷s̷e̷r̷ .̷.̷.̷

“Where does he come from, do you think?”

Sssilence isss an interesssting concept. It’s a ssssserpent coiling around, filling up the void and pulling up the memoriesss from the darkessst cornersss of the mindsss. But myssself, I am more than memory. I am what might be, I am myssstery! Y̷o̷u̷ k̷n̷o̷w̷ m̷e̷-̷s̷s̷s̷o̷ s̷s̷s̷s̷s̷h̷o̷w̷ m̷e̷.̷

In this ssstory, it ssseemsss like whenever I appear sssuddenly it'sss not ssssso clear if I'm a sssssimple ssspirit or I'm flesh and blood … but not the ssspotlight is on me, ssso all eyes ssshould be on me! Can’t you sssssee this ssshadow under me? I won’t have ssshadow if I was dead! I AM ssssso alive! A̷n̷d̷ I̷ f̷e̷e̷d̷ o̷n̷ t̷h̷e̷ f̷e̷a̷r̷ t̷h̷a̷t̷'̷s̷s̷s̷ b̷e̷h̷i̷n̷d̷ y̷o̷u̷r̷ e̷y̷e̷s̷s̷s̷ and I need you to n̷e̷e̷d̷ m̷e̷,̷ i̷t̷'̷s̷ n̷o̷ s̷s̷s̷u̷r̷p̷r̷i̷s̷s̷s̷e̷!̷ judge how crazy this ssstory isss ssspiraling. Yeah, I am talking to _you_ , _you_ who’sss ssscrolling right now!

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☥ “I’m home-”

“Ah, welcome back, Virgil.”

“No work today?”

“I don’t have to be at the office.”

“And dad’s trying the new therapy?”

“Correct.”

“Four times a week? That’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“It’s what the doctor recommended.”

I never know why I always get anxious before getting straight to the truth and need a pause to gather my shaky breath. 

“This is never going to get better, is it? Ugh, he’s never going away.”

Goddamn slimy snake. 

“I don’t know, Virgil.”

“You know, this is one of those moments when you could just be a typical parent and lie and say yes.”

And this is what you get when you choose a no-nonsense robot as your parent.

“Yes.”

“Thanks. That’s comforting.”

Hopefully he didn’t notice the essence of sarcasm … it’s near impossible to read his mind when he’s so silent. But then, it’s the passive skill of this family: we can easily read the air but fail to read what we are thinking. 

I̷ a̷m̷ f̷l̷a̷m̷e̷ a̷n̷d̷ I̷ a̷m̷ f̷i̷r̷e̷,̷ I̷ a̷m̷ d̷e̷s̷s̷s̷t̷r̷u̷c̷t̷i̷o̷n̷,̷ d̷e̷c̷a̷y̷,̷ a̷n̷d̷ d̷e̷s̷s̷s̷i̷r̷e̷-̷

_Ow, can’t you just shut up?!_

I̷'̷l̷l̷ h̷u̷r̷t̷ y̷o̷u̷ .̷.̷.̷ 

“You know, Virgil…” 

I̷'̷l̷l̷ h̷e̷a̷l̷ y̷o̷u̷ .̷.̷.̷ 

“It’s not all about your comfort.” 

I̷'̷m̷ y̷o̷u̷r̷ w̷i̷s̷s̷s̷h̷,̷ y̷o̷u̷r̷ d̷r̷e̷a̷m̷ c̷o̷m̷e̷ t̷r̷u̷e̷,̷ a̷n̷d̷ I̷ a̷m̷ y̷o̷u̷r̷ d̷a̷r̷k̷e̷s̷s̷s̷t̷ n̷i̷g̷h̷t̷m̷a̷r̷e̷ t̷o̷o̷-̷ 

How many times did I wish for them to _care_ about me? Or providing the comfort every child should grow up within? Is it selfish of me for wishing to be the center of attention at least in this family? The looks of the crowd scares me, but they’re my _family_ , so it should feel different, _right_?

I̷'̷v̷e̷ s̷s̷s̷h̷o̷w̷n̷ y̷o̷u̷ .̷.̷.̷

“It’s about helping your father.”

I̷ o̷w̷n̷ y̷o̷u̷.̷

“As always, dad.”

And though you chose me, dad, you can’t change me. At this point I'm more than the perfect stranger who knows you too well.

A̷n̷d̷ t̷h̷o̷u̷g̷h̷ y̷o̷u̷ c̷h̷o̷s̷s̷s̷e̷ m̷e̷,̷ d̷a̷d̷,̷ y̷o̷u̷ c̷a̷n̷'̷t̷ c̷h̷a̷n̷g̷e̷ m̷e̷.̷ A̷t̷ t̷h̷i̷s̷ p̷o̷i̷n̷t̷ I̷'̷m̷ m̷o̷r̷e̷ t̷h̷a̷n̷ t̷h̷e̷ p̷e̷r̷f̷e̷c̷t̷ s̷s̷s̷t̷r̷a̷n̷g̷e̷r̷ w̷h̷o̷ k̷n̷o̷w̷s̷s̷s̷ y̷o̷u̷ t̷o̷o̷ w̷e̷l̷l̷.̷

Unfortunately I’m alive, too alive. And I'll tell you the truth if you let me try. Dad, you have to admit it. You’re forced to live, and so am I. And I’ll show you why I’m too alive to live.

B̷u̷t̷ I̷’̷m̷ a̷l̷i̷v̷e̷,̷ s̷s̷s̷s̷s̷o̷ a̷l̷i̷v̷e̷.̷ A̷n̷d̷ I̷'̷l̷l̷ t̷e̷l̷l̷ y̷o̷u̷ t̷h̷e̷ t̷r̷u̷t̷h̷ i̷f̷ y̷o̷u̷ l̷e̷t̷ m̷e̷ t̷r̷y̷.̷ D̷a̷d̷,̷ y̷o̷u̷ h̷a̷v̷e̷ t̷o̷ a̷d̷m̷i̷t̷ i̷t̷.̷ Y̷o̷u̷’̷r̷e̷ a̷l̷i̷v̷e̷,̷ a̷n̷d̷ s̷s̷s̷o̷ a̷m̷ I̷.̷ A̷n̷d̷ I̷’̷l̷l̷ s̷s̷s̷h̷o̷w̷ y̷o̷u̷ w̷h̷y̷ I̷’̷m̷ s̷s̷s̷s̷s̷o̷ a̷l̷i̷v̷e̷ t̷o̷ l̷i̷v̷e̷.̷ 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚕ Oh, there you were, Virgil. What are you doing in the bathroom? Trying to open the medicine cabinet? Pffft. You really never grew an inch, did you? Here you go. Your big brother at your service! Woah, wait wait wait, why are you pulling out a pill bottle?!

“Risperdal?”

No, please don’t- I̷'̷m̷ a̷l̷i̷v̷e̷.̷.̷.̷

“Or Valium? Xanax?”

Whatever you’re doing, pleassse no, Virgil- I̷'̷m̷ a̷l̷i̷v̷e̷.̷.̷.̷ That ssshrug _never_ felt right-

“What the hell.” 

Oh my god, heavens, no, this is not happening- he just poured out a couple pills and popped them- I̷'̷m̷ a̷l̷i̷v̷e̷.̷.̷.̷ I better go check on pops too-

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

♕ “So, let me get this straight-”

“Rem, you know neither of us can do that. We’re both gay.”

“Whatever. So Virgil has- (Had.) Right, _had_ a dead brother (Who was dead even before he was born-) and the whole family is affected by his death, but one of his dads especially has it worse?”

“Correcto.”

“If he _was_ a real person then we can use Ouija board to summ-”

“What the effing falsetto, Remus.”

“My point is, they shouldn’t really try to avoid the white elephant. (Or in this case, the yellow snake-) They cannot run away from the issue _forever_. One day they’d have to confront it.”

“Huh, you actually have a point. But it will take awhile for them to save the courage to face it …”

“Yeah, but one day, they will …”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚕ I'm right behind you, popsss. O̷t̷h̷e̷r̷s̷ k̷e̷e̷p̷ s̷s̷s̷a̷y̷i̷n̷g̷ i̷t̷,̷ a̷n̷d̷ y̷o̷u̷ s̷s̷s̷a̷y̷ f̷o̷r̷g̷e̷t̷,̷ b̷u̷t̷ I̷'̷l̷l̷ r̷e̷m̷i̷n̷d̷ y̷o̷u̷ f̷o̷r̷ f̷o̷r̷e̷v̷e̷r̷.̷ Y̷o̷u̷ c̷a̷n̷ t̷r̷y̷ t̷o̷ h̷i̷d̷e̷,̷ b̷u̷t̷ y̷o̷u̷ k̷n̷o̷w̷ t̷h̷a̷t̷ I̷ w̷i̷l̷l̷ f̷i̷n̷d̷ y̷o̷u̷ o̷n̷e̷ d̷a̷y̷.̷ ‘̷C̷a̷u̷s̷s̷s̷e̷ i̷f̷ y̷o̷u̷ w̷o̷n̷'̷t̷ g̷r̷i̷e̷v̷e̷ m̷e̷,̷ y̷o̷u̷ w̷o̷n̷'̷t̷ l̷e̷a̷v̷e̷ m̷e̷ b̷e̷h̷i̷n̷d̷!̷ Can you pleassse sssay a word, popsss? You’re beginning to make me worry- 

“Let’s say he’s 18 now-isn’t that when kids move out? Isn’t it time to let him go?”

R̷u̷d̷e̷?̷!̷ N̷o̷,̷ n̷o̷,̷ n̷o̷-̷ I̷ a̷m̷ s̷s̷s̷s̷s̷o̷ a̷l̷i̷v̷e̷,̷ w̷h̷y̷ w̷o̷u̷l̷d̷ I̷ e̷v̷e̷r̷ w̷a̷n̷t̷ t̷o̷ d̷o̷ t̷h̷a̷t̷?̷!̷ O̷r̷ w̷h̷y̷ w̷o̷u̷l̷d̷ y̷o̷u̷ e̷v̷e̷r̷ w̷a̷n̷t̷ t̷o̷ k̷i̷c̷k̷ m̷e̷ o̷u̷t̷?̷ I̷f̷ y̷o̷u̷ c̷l̷i̷m̷b̷ o̷n̷ m̷y̷ b̷a̷c̷k̷,̷ t̷h̷e̷n̷ w̷e̷ b̷o̷t̷h̷ c̷a̷n̷ f̷l̷y̷ t̷̷o̷̷ t̷̷h̷̷e̷̷ w̷̷o̷̷r̷̷l̷̷d̷̷ w̷̷h̷̷e̷̷r̷̷e̷̷ w̷̷e̷̷ w̷̷o̷̷n̷̷’̷̷t̷̷ s̷̷s̷s̷u̷̷f̷̷f̷̷e̷̷r̷̷ a̷̷n̷̷y̷̷m̷̷o̷̷r̷̷e̷̷!̷ I̷f̷ y̷o̷u̷ t̷r̷y̷ t̷o̷ d̷e̷n̷y̷ m̷e̷,̷ I̷'̷l̷l̷ n̷e̷v̷e̷r̷ d̷̷i̷̷e̷̷!̷̷ B̷̷e̷̷c̷̷a̷̷u̷̷s̷̷s̷s̷e̷̷ I̷̷'̷̷m̷̷ a̷̷l̷̷i̷̷v̷̷e̷̷,̷̷ s̷̷s̷s̷s̷s̷o̷̷ a̷̷l̷̷i̷̷v̷̷e̷̷,̷̷ a̷̷n̷̷d̷̷ s̷̷s̷s̷s̷s̷o̷̷ a̷̷r̷̷e̷̷ y̷̷o̷̷u̷̷!̷̷

And at lassst the rockssstar doctor decided to break the sssilence. 

“It’s been four weeks, and I’d like to try something new today. Sometimes, when these stories are hard to tell, hypnosis can be helpful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To quote a YouTube comment: Janus honey, repeating the words "I'm alive" a lot doesn't make you less dead.
> 
> Well, *apparently* parents of mentally ill kids chatrooms exist. So why shouldn't depression chatroom be a thing?
> 
> Chapter 6 ended up being longer than I expected. My goal is to update every 2~4 days and finish on October 25. Why that specific date? Wait for it ...
> 
> I kept forgetting a small pronoun change in the song title and lines to match this story. Whoops
> 
> As those who already knew/searched Next to Normal, in the original show, there are a mother who grieves, a father who suffers, a son who haunts, and a daughter who is silenced. Maybe such family composition is another reason why Next To Normal is frequently compared to Dear Evan Hansen.
> 
> Idk if I portrayed Remy right. From fanfics I read, he sounded ... flirty? But from the *edgy* vibe and being personification of 'sleep,' I felt like he fit Dr. Madden more, who used hypnosis in the original show.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the sixth chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	7. Make Up Your Mind / Catch Me I'm Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The impact of hypnosis on Patton and the impact of his condition on his family is explored in more depth.
> 
> And Roman continues being the supportive boyfriend.

☤ "It’s been four weeks, and I’d like to try something new today. Sometimes, when these stories are hard to tell, hypnosis can be helpful."

"Oh, I don’t think I could be hypnotized. I mean, it’s fine. I’m just not the type."

"Well, we can always find out! First, put your feet on the floor. Your hands in your lap. Breath. Good. Keep breathing like that. And now, walk with me, mentally."

"Okay, walking."

"Now go all the way down-down a long flight of stairs …"

"Stairs!"

"Go step-by-step into the darkness down there."

"Should we turn on a light? You know, with the stairs?"

Huh. This is new. Never seen this kind of reaction. He's too strongly bounded in consciousness to be hypnotized? But I have to be allowed to enter his subconsciousness and interact with his id in order to reach the root of his struggle. And the medium I utilize to do so is hypnosis. Okay, Remy, deep breath, and try again- 

"Walk with me, down a hall-it's a hall that you know. At the end, there's a door. It's a door that you've never laid eyes on before, but it has always been there. Now, open the door."

The room is silent, yet I clearly heard the mental sound of a door clicking. A door that leads to his subconsciousness and id. 

"Can you hear me Patton?"

"Yes."

"Are you nervous?"

"No."

"Good. Now-make up your mind to explore yourself. Make up your mind-you have stories to tell me. We'll search in your past For what sorrows may last. Then make up your mind to be well-you are the only one capable of that, not me."

"Pat, you come home from these sessions in tears. Is this helping or ... Patton? Pattoncake?"

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Another session. Another hypnosis.

"We were both undergrads - architecture. The adoption wasn't planned. Neither was the marriage. I had always expected to be too busy but ... when the adoption paperworks came it all seemed to make sense, until … until …"

"Until?"

"He's not here ... he's not. Love, Patton, _I know you know_..."

Another desperate truth that can never reach.

"Make up your mind that you're strong enough. Make up your mind-let the truth be revealed. Admit what you've lost and live with the cost … at times it does hurt to be healed."

Another phrases that hit too hard to hear yet sound too hazy to heal. 

C̷a̷t̷c̷h̷ m̷e̷,̷ I̷'̷m̷ f̷a̷l̷l̷i̷n̷g̷ .̷.̷.̷

Another whisper that seems to haunt for forever, even beyond the death.

"Patton, in our first session you told me- C̷a̷t̷c̷h̷ m̷e̷,̷ I̷'̷m̷ f̷a̷l̷l̷i̷n̷g̷ .̷.̷.̷ that talking through your history, F̷a̷s̷t̷e̷r̷ t̷h̷a̷n̷ a̷n̷y̷o̷n̷e̷ s̷h̷o̷u̷l̷d̷,̷ c̷a̷t̷c̷h̷ m̷e̷ u̷s̷,̷ I̷'̷m̷ w̷e̷’̷r̷e̷ f̷a̷l̷l̷i̷n̷g̷ .̷.̷.̷ it feels like it's about someone else. P̷l̷e̷a̷s̷e̷ h̷e̷a̷r̷ m̷e̷ u̷s̷ c̷a̷l̷l̷i̷n̷g̷ You have to make it about _you_."

C̷a̷t̷c̷h̷ m̷e̷ u̷s̷,̷ I̷'̷m̷ w̷e̷’̷r̷e̷ f̷a̷l̷l̷i̷n̷g̷ f̷o̷r̷ g̷o̷o̷d̷

Another silent scream that is yet still too hesitant to become the last words.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

You see the backstage at the school auditorium. You almost immediately spot Virgil, dressed in black formal fashion, fidgeting with his purple tie. You spot Roman entering with pinkish purple flowers, and how his face brightened at least 10 candela when he spotted Virgil. 

“Hey! Um, I’m not supposed to be backstage, but … for luck. Even though I _know_ you never need it.”

You see him handing the flower to Virgil.

“Oh, you really didn’t have to … Mmm. Smells so sweet. What flower is this?”

“Heliotropes! It symbolizes eternal love or deeply devoted lover.”

And you notice how Virgil’s mouth is slightly agape, eyes wide, and cheeks blushing more redder than a ripe October apple. As soon as Roman noticed this too, he immediately turned redder than him, if possible. You can almost smell the love in the air.

“Um, so, anyway, did you see my parents out there?”

You could not have missed how Roman flinched when Virgil asked about his parents.

“Um-are you okay?”

And you could not have missed how Virgil gritted his teeth either.

“I’m fine. My dad said they’d both be here.”

Even if you somehow missed the first two, there is absolutely no way you missed how Roman's assurance was shaking when it left his tongue.

"Then I’m sure they will be."

"Will they?"

You taste how bittersweet Virgil sounds. He doubts the slightest possibility because he knows _too_ well that hoping only brings pain when the anticipation is betrayed, yet from the deepest corner of his heart, he still hopes for his parents to see him shining, like a child eager to show off his colorful painting. As Roman swallows the bitterness in his mouth as well, you follow Virgil stepping out on stage and peering at the audience-and not seeing his parents.

_"We had Virgil too- And I know he knows. I couldn't hold him in the orphanage."_

You observe how Virgil's heterochromic eyes scan the audience like a hawk in search of the prey. Under the spotlight shining on the stage, it's hard to recognize the familiar faces hidden among the audience and relative darkness. But Virgil still looks for them, not willing to let go of the sheerest hope ... _yet_.

"Where the hell are they?"

_"I couldn't let myself hold him."_

_ "That's the first time you mentioned Virgil in weeks of therapy." _

It would take a superhuman hearing to hear Virgil's resentment. It has always been boiling inside him, filled all the way up to right behind his throat, ready to burst out like a volcano at any second. But over time he taught himself how to swallow and silence it just in time, so that no one would be concerned.

"God _damn_ it. He's not there … of course he’s not. He’s _never_ there!"

_"Make up your mind: whether you want clarity or not. Take what you know and then make it make sense. Just face what you fear, and soon it comes clear. The visions are just your defense."_

You follow Virgil as he shakily takes the stage at his recital. You stop your own breath as he looks out at the audience and takes a deep yet slightly shaky breath.

"Um. Thank you for coming. Virgil Lobe-Cade."

You do not miss how he almost collapses as he sits at the piano, almost leans to the piano as he pays his fingers on the keys, almost accidentally hits the key as he stops his shaky fingers, and tries to play the first bars of his piece but mangles it badly.

_ "Let’s try to understand what all this is doing to you. And your family." _

"Fuck."

_ "Your grief for your son. Your distance from Virgil." _

As you notice Roman peeking out from the wings, Virgil slowly turns to the audience.

"I’m sorry. I just- The thing is- I-"

You do not need a superhuman hearing to catch how Virgil is nanometers away from hyperventilation, or worse, mental breakdown. He's frozen in the time, in a angle where the gentlest nudge would push him off from the seat. You are distracted by Roman, who began to shift in hurry, and almost miss when Virgil faces the audience again.

"You know what the problem with classical is? It’s so rigid and structured. You have to play the notes on the page. There’s no room for improvisation."

You hear Roman softly gasping-and cannot help but agree with him.

"Oh no."

Then you hear V launching into a slightly sloppy but rousing rock riff. Soon you're thrown into an auditory chaos and orderly ascendancy of entropy. You're filled with a great desire to embrace the perfectly synchronized cacophony, kiss the threatening harmony away, and bid farewell to the mellifluous pressure.

But you can never reach him. He is not there. Even though everyone can hear him, no one can locate him in the hazy Lobe-Cade wonderland.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☤ C̷a̷t̷c̷h̷ m̷e̷ I̷'̷m̷ f̷a̷l̷l̷i̷n̷g̷ I̷'̷m̷ a̷l̷i̷v̷e̷

I can hear his, no, their scream but my voice can never reach them. Yet I continue to talk to him, making efforts to approach to his darkest corner of mind he choose to lock it down years and years ago. But as I take steps along the hall, the confused, anxious, almost _afraid_ voices cloud my vision. 

"Make up your mind ..." T̷a̷k̷e̷ a̷ l̷o̷o̷k̷ "You can live at last ..." H̷e̷'̷s̷ n̷o̷t̷ h̷e̷r̷e̷ T̷a̷k̷e̷ a̷ l̷o̷o̷k̷ I̷'̷m̷ a̷l̷i̷v̷e̷ "Make up your mind to be fully alive." F̷a̷l̷l̷i̷n̷g̷ .̷.̷.̷ T̷h̷e̷ i̷n̷v̷i̷s̷i̷b̷l̷e̷ b̷o̷y̷ "Embrace what's inside-" A̷l̷i̷v̷e̷ F̷a̷l̷l̷i̷n̷g̷ Replace what has died L̷o̷v̷e̷ Then make up your mind I̷t̷'̷s̷ A̷l̷i̷v̷e̷ You'll survive T̷i̷m̷e̷ t̷o̷ g̷o̷

God willingly, he survives long enough till I reach the door and overcome his depression.

C̷a̷t̷c̷h̷ m̷e̷ u̷s̷ t̷h̷e̷m̷ h̷i̷m̷,̷ I̷'̷m̷ w̷e̷’̷r̷e̷ t̷h̷e̷y̷’̷r̷e̷ h̷e̷’̷s̷ f̷a̷l̷l̷i̷n̷g̷ .̷.̷.̷

"Unresolved loss can lead to depression."

C̷a̷t̷c̷h̷ m̷e̷ u̷s̷ t̷h̷e̷m̷ h̷i̷m̷,̷ I̷'̷m̷ w̷e̷’̷r̷e̷ t̷h̷e̷y̷’̷r̷e̷ h̷e̷’̷s̷ f̷a̷l̷l̷i̷n̷g̷ .̷.̷.̷

_Y_ _ou see Roman quietly yet quickly approaching to Virgil, taking each step meticulously to not apply additional pressure to him ..._

"Fear of loss, to anxiety."

F̷l̷y̷i̷n̷g̷ h̷e̷a̷d̷ f̷i̷r̷s̷t̷ i̷n̷t̷o̷ f̷a̷t̷e̷.̷ C̷a̷t̷c̷h̷ m̷e̷ u̷s̷ t̷h̷e̷m̷ h̷i̷m̷,̷ I̷'̷m̷ w̷e̷’̷r̷e̷ t̷h̷e̷y̷’̷r̷e̷ h̷e̷’̷s̷ f̷a̷l̷l̷i̷n̷g̷ .̷.̷.̷

_...and tries to help him up from the piano. It seems like at that exact period, those two are the only living being in the whole world._

"The more you hold on to something you lost …"

P̷l̷e̷a̷s̷e̷ h̷e̷a̷r̷ m̷e̷ u̷s̷ t̷h̷e̷m̷ h̷i̷m̷ c̷a̷l̷l̷i̷n̷g̷ .̷.̷.̷

_Virgil resists futilely at first, throwing a fit that sounds as threatening as a tiny kitten ..._

"… the more you fear losing it." 

C̷a̷t̷c̷h̷ m̷e̷ u̷s̷ t̷h̷e̷m̷ h̷i̷m̷ b̷e̷f̷o̷r̷e̷ i̷t̷'̷s̷ t̷o̷o̷ l̷a̷t̷e̷ ̷

_... but finally lets Roman help him up. Virgil holds on to him to keep from falling-compared to Roman, he looks like a cat drenched in rain._

"Depression, anxiety, depression, anxiety … one gives rise to the other. It becomes a cycle." 

C̷a̷t̷c̷h̷ m̷e̷ u̷s̷ t̷h̷e̷m̷ h̷i̷m̷ b̷e̷f̷o̷r̷e̷ i̷t̷'̷s̷ t̷o̷o̷ l̷a̷t̷e̷.̷ ̷C̷a̷t̷c̷h̷ m̷e̷ u̷s̷ t̷h̷e̷m̷ h̷i̷m̷,̷ I̷'̷m̷ w̷e̷’̷r̷e̷ t̷h̷e̷y̷’̷r̷e̷ h̷e̷’̷s̷ f̷a̷l̷l̷i̷n̷g̷

"Wouldn’t you like to be free from all that? Finally? Wouldn’t you like to go home, clear out his room … maybe spend some time with your other son? And let your son go, at last?"

"Uh. So Vee, should we go?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Popsss."

"Yes I would."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dammit Roman, you really should've said 'break your leg' instead of jinxing it badly.
> 
> In terms of technique, this chapter was quite entertainingly challenging, not only the *intense* color coding but also the shift among various POV(Point of Views): Remy's POV(1st person) -> Narrator's(my) POV(3rd person) -> Reader's(your) POV(2nd person) -> then mix of Remy and your POV(1st + 2nd POV). I find writing in 2nd person POV an interesting literary challenge, even though it can be hard to distinguish it from others.
> 
> Then why 2nd POV, you ask? Well, in last chapter I - or a certain snake - said that 'I' need you to judge how crazy this story is spiraling!
> 
> Yet in terms of context, I feel less satisfied. This is semi-songfic where lots of lines are directly from the actual song lyrics, plus in the album there are lots of songs where multiple people weave out the different lyrics into a disorienting harmony. I taught myself how to put colors in AO3 to differentiate the speaker, yet I strongly recommend listening to the actual music!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the seventh chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	8. I Dreamed a Dance / There's a World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would you do if you can do only one thing before your death?
> 
> For him, it was dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arguably the darkest point of the entire show.
> 
> To bring out several YouTube comments for There's a World:
> 
> 'This actually captured the hysteria of the preface of contemplating suicide perfectly. It's delicate but mad at the same time, which is what the spiraling thoughts feel like.'
> 
> 'A song this dark should not sound so beautiful.'
> 
> 'I love how the most beautiful songs in this show are also the darkest ones.'
> 
> Make sure you read the tag, and TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of BLOOD, SELF-HARM, and SUICIDE ATTEMPT.

Logan brought him a box of items from the baby's room.

"This is good, Pat. It’s a good step. Now excuse me for a night-"

He wouldn't have said that if only he knew what would happen that night.

As Logan disappears to a dark hallway with a tired long yawn, Patton sifted through the items. He took out the faded canary yellow blanket, unfolded it, held it tightly as if it was his lifeline, folded it again and draped it on the arm of the chair. Next he lifted a dusty music box. He sneezed after blowing away the dust, and considered it a long moment, then opened it. A soothing chime filled the air. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜  _I saw you light the ballroom with your sparkling eyes of blue-_

In a blink the blue shines in a brilliant gold. A pair of deep indigo orbs are recolored into light hazel that almost looks gold, accentuated with the sharp eye lines. With slightly vertical thick pupil the left eye looks dangerously cold, yet it sparkles in golden poppy when it looks at me with extra honey-dripping sweetness. 

_Graceful as an angel's wing I dreamed a dance with you ..._

Our first dance was at high school prom. I arrived first, nervously fidgeting with the sleeves of white jacket. Seconds and minutes passed, and when he was almost an hour late, I gave up and decided to leave. Then there he entered, panting heavily, dressed in a stunning navy tuxedo that highlighted his eyes. I immediately ran into the arms of my knight in shining armor and prince of the night. 

_You whispered slyly, softly, you told me you would be true-_

In every turn and twirl he told me that. And I believed every word and syllable he said. His phrases never changed as time went by, and so did my reply, till the particular evening when he knelt on one knee and presented a pair of silver rings. 

_We spun around a thousand stars as I dreamed a dance with you ..._

Between us two, I was a better dancer-relatively. He couldn't stop apologizing as he stepped on my feet every eight seconds, and I couldn't stop laughing. Only one word can describe our first dance: _beautiful_. It felt like I was in the signature scene from Beauty and the Beast. 

_I know the night is dying dear and the day will dawn. The dancers may disappear, still the dance goes on-_

One by one the couples left the ballroom, and we were one of the last to remain in the room. When we were finally worn out he led me to the grassy field behind the building. He took his jacket off and laid it down for me to lie on it (I remember the grass being a bit wet.) We lied down, side by side, and he told all these stories about constellations for another hours. I never got tired from listening to his soothing voice, and before he left he kissed my hand. 

But I know I will wake alone tomorrow, and the dream of our dance is through. Once again I will lose the reason to live, but for now ... until forever, my love, I'll dream about you, live to dance with you, and die to ...

So please, look back at me with those honey colored eyes. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚕  There'sss a world, popsss.

I know a place we can go together. It’sss the heaven, Elysssion, and Valhalla where the pain will go away and the sssun ssshines each day. I’ve been the only living being in the Garden of Eden, and for sssssome reassson I wasn’t kicked out even when I ate the Forbidden Fruit. Life is beyond 'boring' when it'sss a repetitive monotonous cycle of talking to yourssself for daysss and weeksss and wondering when you will finally go crazy. I won't mind having a little company!

Walk with me, popsss. All the way down a long flight of ssstairsss, ssstep-by-ssstep into the welcoming darknesssss-oh, no need to turn on the lightsss. We don't want to wake up othersss-and I do not want anyone elssse to find the path to my sssecret garden. And open the door. Careful, the tiled floor might be ssslippery, popsss.

I'll show you just where, and in time I know you'll sssee the sssilent fireworksss.

All you need is just sssome rednesssss. Here, grab that, and let me help you. Together we’ll carve the evidence you once existed in this world-like Vikingsss did! Oh, isssn't the contrassst of red on white just ssssso ... calming? It'sss jussst ssso clean, calm, and pure-every sssingle pigment emitsss the livelinesssss. The monochrome contrassst of black and white is too rigid. It only triggersss the innate fear of death of people. But why do we have to fear death? Why is death consssidered 'bad?' What pussshesss people to continue their crappy life if death would feel like a ssserene ssslumber? 

There'sss a world where we can be free-free from all kindsss of pain and sssuffering! Oh, right, the firssst ssslit kinda ssstingsss, but asssss you go on it would hurt lesssss and lesssss. We're converting the mental pain into the physssical pain like converting potential energy into other kinds! Yet unlike energy, which has to be conserved, the pain can be disssssolved into blood, sssweat, and tearsss. Ssso pleassse continue, till the lassssst drop of your pain is gone.

Popsss, I have ssseen you crying the tearsss that won't pour out and ssslowly drown your heart. I can and will sssave you-now clossse your eyesss. When you open them again I will be in front of you and you won't have to cry ever again. 

I'm not going without you, popsss. I wouldn't leave you here this way. You're coming with me.

Ssssso pleassse, come with me.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☸ Something doesn't feel right.

First, the night in this house was never this quiet. There always were soft snore coming from my side and occasional shift from Virgil's room.

Second, the night in this house was never this dark. Patton does not like being in the dark. It’s one of the few things about him that did not change after the… incident. He always turned on his puppy nightlight on.

And third, the door to bathroom was always closed during night. I didn't think of grabbing my glasses as I hastily hurried to the bathroom.

Yet when I turned on the light, I was too relieved that I didn't. The metallic smell that haunted the air reminded me that.

There he was, looking too peaceful, surrounded by the bloody red flower petals. Under the blazing lighting my already poor eyesight distorted the colors even further: white looked too clean, red too beautiful, curly strawberry blonde too faded, freckled rose too pale, and light sky blue too ... lifeless. 

“Patton?! PATTON!”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☤ Cade, Patton. C̷o̷m̷e̷ w̷i̷t̷h̷ m̷e̷

Discovered unconscious at home, T̷h̷e̷r̷e̷'̷s̷ a̷ w̷o̷r̷l̷d̷ w̷h̷e̷r̷e̷ w̷e̷ c̷a̷n̷ b̷e̷ f̷r̷e̷e̷ multiple razor wounds to wrists and forearms.

Self-inflicted. C̷o̷m̷e̷ w̷i̷t̷h̷ m̷e̷

Saline rinse, sutures and gauze, I. V. antibiotics. Isolated, sedated and restrained.

Damn it.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ He’s holding out his hands.

For a moment I was unsure whether I should take them.

But I took them, and they were surprisingly warm.

The warmth I never thought I’d feel again.

The shades of gold I never thought I’d see again.

The smile I never thought I’d smile back again.

I am following him.

I'm not going without you, my son.

I wouldn't leave you here this way.

You're coming with me.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☸ “ECT is indicated.”

Well, Doctor Picani, that is certainly not the most ideal salutation to a partner of an ER patient who just arrived.

“Wow. I mean-they still do that?”

“We do, yes. It’s the standard in cases like this. He’s got a long history of drug therapy and resistance, he’s acutely suicidal-it’s really our best option.”

“That’s kind of terrifying.”

‘Kind of?’ No, Logan Lobe, you know that is an understatement.

“It’s not. The electricity involved is barely enough to light a hundred-watt bulb.”

Watt. The SI unit of power, equivalent to one joule per second, corresponding to the power in an electric circuit in which the potential difference is one volt and the current one ampere. Named after James Watt, an 18th-century Scottish inventor, whose Watt steam engine served as a foundation of the Industrial Revolution. 

Really, Logan Lobe. The only word that would be able to describe the immediate dictionary explanation of a word would be … _wry_. It might also fit your current facial expression. 

“Oh, if it’s just a hundred-watt bulb …” 

“It’s safer than crossing the street, and the short-term success rate is over eighty percent.”

Over eighty percent. The chance of failure is one or two out of every ten. Would Patton fall into two or eight?

“I thought he was better …”

Or did I blind myself to believe so … ? 

“Sometimes patients recover just enough strength to follow through on suicidal impulses, but not enough strength to resist them.”

“Well, that seems very … fucked.”

I absolutely _despised_ the fact that it actually … _made sense_. 

“Yes. Yes it is. Here, take a look at this clipboard, would you?”

Even though I have read countless pages of medical documents, each and every one of them were equally terrifying. But this one … reading only the first few words forthwith sent chills down my spine. 

“Legally, we need his consent. Hospital policy is we need yours, too.”

For once in my entire lifetime, my gut made the decision quicker than my brain.

“I don’t think he’s gonna go for this.”

“Mister Lobe, we can administer the ECT and you can bring him home in ten days. Or we can keep him sedated for forty-eight hours, then discharge him and wait for him to try again. Look-go home. Take the night. We’ll talk to him in the morning.”

Why did that sound like death sentence to me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I described the triggering parts in most subtle and figurative way possible, mostly utilizing the color to depict the scene, but somehow they ended up sounding too artistically beautiful for me. 
> 
> 'Sometimes patients recover just enough strength to follow through on suicidal impulses, but not enough strength to resist them.'
> 
> One of the evidences that Brian Yorkey did his research right. 
> 
> Really, this chapter was too 'serene' to summon Virgil and too 'calm' to summon Remus for feedback. It was just too tranquil, like an exact moment before a stone lands on the lake and breaks the silence. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the eighth chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	9. I've Been / Didn't I See This Movie?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan reflects on what went wrong, yet he does not know what will go wrong.
> 
> Virgil just cannot refuse the sweet sensation of falling apart.
> 
> And Patton opens his eyes, confused.

☸ Really, can this get even worse? Whatever fits the definition of ‘worse.’ 

This is the most silent night I have ever spent, and standing alone in this cold room only pushes me to wonder what comes now. What should I do to spend this night not in vain? I know I have to help him, but hell if I know how. All I can do and have done is supporting him, both financially and emotionally. I was born into an affluent family with the luxury of being capable to support Patton, no matter what condition he is stuck in-it is a privilege not everyone is born with. Sure, having a wealthy parent or grandparent does not necessarily mean you are wealthy too, but I only spent the money I earned with my two hands for Patton's treatments. Though, I cannot deny that we could've been more wealthy if we did not have the consistent expense named therapy. But every family of terminal, rare, and mental disease patients knows the stagnant helplessness of unnoticeable improvement compared to the amount of dedicated time and money. And all the times that we've been told the way whatever illness goes? The truth of it is, no one really knows. At least heaven knows my everlasting dedication to him. 

What face was I supposed to make when the ER nurses and doctors looked at me with a sickeningly pitiful expression? What face was I making when I returned home that Virgil backed away looking terrified? What face was I hiding behind the mask I wore to get along with Patton’s pat-tastic tea party in his own hazy Cade wonderland? Every day this act we act gets more and more absurd, deviating further and further from the reality we were supposed to go back together. And as I helplessly witness the perfect happy family I have depicted since the marriage slipping through my fingers, All my fears just sit inside me, screaming to be heard. Yet I know they won't, though, not a single word, because I have mastered the art of erasing my presence long ago. 

But even though I can erase the too beautiful redness Patton painted on the tub last night, the smell of the same redness still lingers and mocks me, a reminder of how I will never be enough for him. I was here, at his side, whenever he called and cried. I am the one who knows him, who cares for him, who’s always been there for him, and who’s always helped him. So how could you leave me on my own, Patton? You chose to leave this life and leave me numb. All were blind and deaf and dumb after you finished painting the bathroom in lively red. I thought I did, but I didn't know how bad it had become or how to save you … until now. Now every prayer I've learned is prayed and every moment we shared together is replayed. I won't allow your memory to fade … so can I save you, Patton cade? 

Will it work, this new cure? There's no way to be sure, but I'm weary to the bone, hit with the familiar sensation of screaming while never making a sound and falling while never hitting the ground. Now I can confirm that my vocal cord has perished, and the ground will not be generously soft enough to contribute to the chance of my survival. But whenever he goes flying, I keep my feet right on the ground-guess I cannot defy gravitation no matter how hard I try. Oh, now I need a lift, and there's no one around …

_ Dad … _

And I've never had to face the world without him at my side-I cannot even dare to do it. He has been the eternal source of sunlight in my life and I … just don’t want to ever imagine how different my life would’ve been without him. Now I'm strolling right beside him as the black hole opens wide and swallows every particle of our lives. Currently it is threatening to end Patton’s life … and I am fully aware of the axiom that mine is just a slower suicide. I've been here for the show of our lives, ready to enjoy every high and every low. But it's the worst we've ever known … self-chosen accelerated death, can you imagine … ? 

He's been hurt and how … but I can't give up now. Every second I waste is every second Patton suffers. And because I've never been, I could never be alone. The last night’s memory will forever haunt me: the sky collapsed without a sound. As broken pieces hit the ground, the rain fell down around me and I drowned, impossible to even attempt to scream. Or is it a self-made tragedy? But Patton, I will save you. As our secret sorrows overflowed, I saw them in your afterglow, shimmering in the shade of sky blue I remembered so tenderly. I promise I will never let you go-I _will_ save you.

I'm not going without you, Patton. I wouldn't leave you here this way. You're coming with me.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☥ “Virgil?”

“Dad. Why didn’t you take me with you?”

"I didn't want to interrupt your schoolwork."

"Dad, tomorrow is Saturday."

"Then where were you last night?"

"Hanging out with Roman?"

"We don’t see much of you these days. Is this Roman a good influence?"

"Like, compared to what?"

"Okay, that’s fair."

_“The aftereffects are minimal. You’ll feel a bit like you have a hangover.” _

_“Popsss, don’t let them do thisss. It causssesss brain damage.” _

"Your father’s in for a new treatment. ECT."

"Okay-L-M-N-O-P-what is that? -I don’t know."

"Electroconvulsive therapy. Shock therapy."

_“A minority of patients report some memory loss, but it’s usually not much memory.” _

_“How do you know how much memory you’ve lossst if you’ve lossst it?” _

"You’re kidding, right?"

"......"

"Dad?"

"......"

"Dad, that is bullshit!"

"Language."

_“Patients have said it’s like becoming a new person.” _

"Oh, excuse my _Spanish_."

"Shouldn't it be Fren-"

"But still, it is bullshit. He trusts you. And this is what you are doing to him? Even if he disagrees, I _know_ you will gaslight him to sign the whatever form and roast him like some chicken-"

"Virgil, the electricity involved is barely enough to light a hundred-watt bulb-"

There are the words you _know_ that will hurt the family and bring nothing but the sorrow and regret. But you also _know_ that you _have to_ spit them out, unless you will go crazy. But then, imagining how his face might morph into an absolutely _wretched_ look is morbidly entertaining, and such amusement has been what kept me from actually saying it. Using lunacy to cure lunacy, just like using poison to cure poison, ha! 

"Can't you see? You are just being selfish, dad! You sold your soul to a demon just to bring back the dad _you_ used to know, but guess what? THERE IS NO MEMORY OF 'PATTON CADE' IN MY LIFE! WHY CAN'T YOU FOCUS ON WHAT IS STANDING IN FRONT OF YOU, INSTEAD OF THE LIFELESS DOLL?! DO YOU EVEN LOVE-"

_... Oh._

_Fuck, what have I done?! IamnothingbutaterriblesonIshould-_

What I heard: _Virgil!_

What my brain interpreted: _Are you threatening to cut yourself open too?!_

Since when did suicide count as a threat? But my brain is suddenly too tired to contemplate on it further. No, suddenly it's rushing too fast, and so is my heart. It missed the pain when I slipped and banged my knee hard on the stair, my instinct knows it will bruise in nasty purple but I deserve it for being a terrible son, breaking his father's already broken heart just like that- As soon as I reached my room I slammed the door shut, grabbed a headphone, and let random shuffle of MCR musics to burn my eardrums, silencing my scream behind their beats. 

Because apparently, my dad is not the only one who has mastered the art of erasing his own presence.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ Huh, that’s an unfamiliar ceiling. Where am I? 

Hospital? But why am I … oh. This is just like the movie with McMurphy and the nurse. I remember a snippet of it: It was a movie version of a book Virgil was reading for literature class. It was Logan who suggested watching it together, so on Saturday night we had a family movie time, something we do once a month or two (maybe it was not as common as how I remember.) 

It wasn’t that happy movie, though, nothing like Disney style happily ever after. That hospital was heavy, but this cuckoo's nest is worse. And it was the one where in the end the good guys fry. Or was it? But I do remember that in the middle of the movie, something inside me just snapped, and I cried, and I couldn’t get hold of myself. I had to excuse myself, allowing Logan to drag-carry me all the way back to our bed, leaving Vee behind. Well, he was too focused on annotating on his notebook and quietly pointing out the quotes and differences from the novel, and almost didn’t notice us leaving. 

Logan kept apologizing for suggesting watching it together, but honestly, I could not see what he did wrong.

_“The modern procedure's clean and simple. The electricity required is barely enough to light a hundred-watt bulb.”_

Woah woah woah, hold on right there, mister! What makes you think I'd lose my mind for you? I am not a sociopath or Sylvia Plath! I don't need _any_ kind of medical procedure-I am perfectly _fine_! Or if you needed your own Frances Farmer, I am not the kind of find for you either! So stay out of my brain-my brain cannot handle an additional company! Too many people running inside my head, it hurts ... 

I don't want to be a prince of pain! But I want my knight in shining armor and prince of the night to come rescue me ... 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☥ Today’s homework: read and annotate _Tulips_ by Sylvia Plath. Wow, really?

For anyone who doesn’t know who Sylvia Plath is, she was an American poet, novelist, and short-story writer, born on October 27, 1932 and died on February 11, 1963. She takes the credit for advancing the genre of confessional poetry; you can notice the recurring theme of agony of a female poet and her depression through her works. Her life was not pretty-first her father died when she was eight from a disease, but it could count as a suicide since he self-misdiagnosed diabetes as lung cancer and refused to seek medical care. Needless to say, his death had a deep impact on Plath’s life, and she was depressed throughout most of her life: her first suicide attempt was a year after her father’s death.

During college years, she attempted another suicide due to academic pressure. Fortunately her writing career began to bloom … until she met Ted Hughes, a fellow poet. He was an asshole, like e to the power of Alexander Hamilton level asshole, who cheated on Plath and worsened her depression. After several failed attempts, she finally succeeded in taking her own life on an especially cold winter day via carbon monoxide poisoning, with her head in the oven.

_ The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here. _

_ Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in. _

_ I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly _

_ As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands. _

_ I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions. _

_ I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses _

_ And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons. _

Noticed the usage of first person pronouns(I, my)? It’s one of the characteristics of confessional poetry. For the first few lines the color white is associated with quietness, snow, and peacefulness. Yet winter, the tranquil snowy season, is more commonly associated with the loneliness of death, for being the period when the dreadful cold takes away the liveliness. Fitting the setting, the symbolism of white is soon replaced with the emptiness, where ‘I’ has relinquished the energy and identity to medical staff, feeling isolated in the hospital buzzing with people.

_ They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff _

_ Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut. _

_ Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in. _

_ The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble, _

_ They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps, _

_ Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another, _

_ So it is impossible to tell how many there are. _

Sheet-cuff. Feeling of subjugation in hospital, where a patient is supposed to get better. ‘Pupil’ can mean both student and black center of an eye. The latter would create a nice contrast with the whiteness of this hospital setting. Now, the nurses are compared to (sea)gulls, which is interesting since at the very first line the narrator stated it is winter. Wouldn't seagulls be more ... summer thing? Maybe it reflects the narrator's desire to return to summer, the sunny season of energy and liveliness. But they are stuck in hospital, lost track of time in the environment of sameness. 

_ My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water _

_ Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently. _

_ They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep. _

_ Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage—— _

_ My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox, _

_ My husband and child smiling out of the family photo; _

_ Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks. _

Now the narrator has shrunk into a pebble, that seems smooth but who knows what’s going on inside it. Plus a pebble is not a living thing. 'Numbness' and 'bright needle' are quite contrasting, considering how needle would feel sharp. A numbness brought by sharpness ... ha. That 'baggage' is meant to be literal in the fifth line, and figurative in the sixth. The emotional baggage of being a burden to the family. 'Catch onto my skin' and 'little smiling hooks' are another hint that the narrator is feeling guilty for spreading unhappiness to the family with their hospitalization. 

_ I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat _

_ stubbornly hanging on to my name and address. _

_ They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations. _

_ Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley _

_ I watched my teaset, my bureaus of linen, my books _

_ Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head. _

_ I am a nun now, I have never been so pure. _

This poem was written in 1961. So Plath might’ve been actually thirty, which clears the suspicion of the narrator being Plath herself. Well, from the last stanza, you could’ve deduced that the narrator is a female, considering men wouldn’t have a husband in those times. The green plastic-pillowed trolley suggests some kind of operation setup: surgeons wear blue and green, the colors opposite of red on the color spectrum, to improve their vision to be more sensitive to different shades of red during an operation. Under the influence of anesthetic, the narrator is submerging under her subconsciousness. Plus ‘pure’ can be tied back to the theme of the color white.

_ I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted _

_ To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. _

_ How free it is, you have no idea how free—— _

_ The peacefulness is so big it dazes you, _

_ And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets. _

_ It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them _

_ Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet. _

Flowers-including tulips-are transient: they will die one day, and so will us. And again the color white takes the two contrasting symbols: emptiness and peacefulness. With nothing inside her head to bothering her, the narrator feels both settled and lost simultaneously. Also, this is the first time a second person pronoun(you) is used: if the confessional narrative was just a bunch of vectors shooting at random angles, now they have located the target(=’you’) of accusation. The sudden usage of ‘strong’ words like ‘dead,’ ‘shutting their mouths,’ and ‘Communion tablet’ indicates the shift of narrative style too.

_ The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me. _

_ Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe _

_ Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby. _

_ Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds. _

_ They are subtle : they seem to float, though they weigh me down, _

_ Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color, _

_ A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck. _

Another color theme is introduced: red. Undeniable it represents the blood-just like those red petals my dad painted on the bathtub last night-and liveliness. The color that makes your blood boil lingering around the wound, weighing down, and wrapping the neck. What else would it be if it is not a figuralization of life, threatening to continue on the dreadful life? No one else can sense it-it is a ghost that will haunt you till the end of your life, regardless of your choice of welcoming or prolonging the inevitable. The tulips, possible gift with a message of 'get well soon!' have distorted into the painful reminder to continue living on and return to the 'normal' life. 

_ Nobody watched me before, now I am watched. _

_ The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me _

_ Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins, _

_ And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow _

_ Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips, _

_ And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself. _

_ The vivid tulips eat my oxygen. _

Now I wonder whether this recurring contrast of white and red can be tied to the blood cells, like white blood cells and red blood cells, y’know? Red blood cell carries oxygen and collects carbon dioxide inside the body, and white blood cell protects the body from infectious disease and foreign materials. Plus red blood cells change color depending on the state of the hemoglobin: it’s bright scarlet when carrying oxygen, and turns to dark burgundy when released oxygen. Now that explains why the tulips are so vivid; they ate the oxygen of the narrator and reduced her into a lethargic shadowy being.

_ Before they came the air was calm enough, _

_ Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss. _

_ Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise. _

_ Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river _

_ Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine. _

_ They concentrate my attention, that was happy _

_ Playing and resting without committing itself. _

The world used to be white and only white, where the narrator could rest in tranquility and get better, even though she is not aware of the reason she _has to_ get better. But now red walked into her life, and suddenly she knows the reason. Her subconsciousness, which was 'happy playing and resting without committing itself,' is ordered to return to the life, where her family and memories (and pain and suffering) await. No matter how many times you yearn to cut yourself off from the miserable life, Life will always drag you back to the painful reality.

_ The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves. _

_ The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals; _

_ They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat, _

_ And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes _

_ Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me. _

_ The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea, _

_ And comes from a country far away as health. _

See? The narrator is aware of how _threatening_ life can be. Now tulip, a flower, has fully bloomed and the explosion of energy transformed it into an animal-‘some great African cat’ must mean a lion. The lively red tulip became a terrifying and dangerous being and is definitely influencing the narrator; just take a look at how wild her imagination is running. Walls that seem to be warming? Don't living things feel warmer when their blood is running? She is drifting farther and farther from the pure healthy life as the red continues to taint the white. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ Now I remember-the doctor from this movie looked just like you! In the end the patient got impatient and said "sorry, doc, I'm through. I know where this is going, and I know what you're about-'cause I have seen this movie and I walked out.” Well, I am saying the same to him, and I’m walking out-

And just like magic, Logan appeared in the entrance. He nodded to Doctor Picani, and he left the room, leaving us behind.

Logan, what happened? Why do your eyes of starry nights look so … _stormy_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But seriously, what kind of psychopathic genius rhymes sociopath with Sylvia Plath?!
> 
> For those who want to know, Frances Farmer(Sep 19, 1913 – Aug 1, 1970) was an American actress who was detained in a psychiatric hospital due to her manic depressive psychosis. It is alleged that Farmer had been mistreated in there, including insulin shock treatment and ECT against her will, and possible even a transorbital lobotomy. 
> 
> You had contemplation on parallels among multilingualism, synesthesia, and misophonia, also antidepressants research paper, both in disguise of fanfic. Now you get quality poetry analysis in disguise of fanfic! It was the major reason why this chapter took so long (alongside first online week in university ...) but it was totally worth it!
> 
> I spent my lit. class for last semester in high school reading and annotating Sylvia Plath's poems. I still remember some connections I made (particularly the 'red/white blood' cell one) because Tulips was the piece I got for my IOC. (IBDP anyone? Yep I am that cursed IBDP class of 2020!) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the ninth chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	10. A Light in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan and Patton reminiscing one last time ... before Patton would never be same again.

☸ He was standing there, sky blue eyes big and round as they always were, just like at our first dance. Our first dance was at high school prom. My work at the local university library ended late, so I was navigating through traffic jams anxiously. Seconds and minutes passed, and when I arrived almost an hour late, I gave up and decided that he must’ve left. But when I entered, there he was, dressed in a stunning white suit that seemed to glow under the light. It seemed like every other light was magically turned off, and the only one that was still on spotlighted Patton. 

But nowadays whenever I return home, the only light that shines is the one in the drive. It has been the one single sign that our house is alive, not an abandoned house haunted by the spirits who are stuck in this world even after their death. Our house … it was designed and built on my own. Back in the university days, the Roman architecture really intrigued me, and I wanted to apply what I learnt when I got to build my own house like Thomas Jefferson did. Our third president has a keen interest in architecture, and he helped spread the Neo-Palladian style throughout the US! If you look at the pictures of Virginia State Capitol (whose design was directly influenced by him), University of Virginia (of which he founded), his beloved home Monticello, and Jefferson Memorial all share the Pantheon-like design.

Yet Patton frequently contributed to the design and accompanied me on the construction sites: I still vividly remember Patton excitedly choosing colors from catalog (blue for roof and white for walls!), bringing excellent lunch (and of course, _two_ cookies), sketching me carrying the wood on a hot summer day.

So why has it felt like I lived there alone all this time?

_ Um, what about Virgil? _

Can anyone tell me why I waited through the night for a miracle to arrive and liberate him from the hallucination? Why did I leave the nightlight last night when Patton was … absent? 

“I know you know, Patton.”

Our house was a home long ago, with Patton radiating brightness 24/7 and a scent of baked cookies trailing behind him. Our house could never be more perfect with him by my side.

_ Seriously, WHAT ABOUT VIRGIL?! _

When I gently wrapped my arm around his waist I noticed how thin he has become. There was a significant qualitative difference from Patton back in the high school days. With his cheeks sprinkled with freckles and baby fat that was miraculously preserved during puberty and somewhat chubby shape, he could beat any teddy bear in the title of ‘best bear hug bearer’ (no pun was intended, what do you mean.) Between us two, I was a worse dancer-relatively. I couldn't stop apologizing as I stepped on his feet every eight seconds, and he couldn't stop laughing. Well, I did work on my dance skill, and now I do _not_ step on his feet as we spin in the tiny hospital room!

Personally, I would like to take this chance because it may be our last to be free from the suffering, to let go of the past, and to try to be loving husbands again as we promised. It will let love never die and let us just live our life. 

If he takes my hand, I will take your heart and keep it far from what keeps us apart, the nightmare that has haunted us for 16 years. Can we start with a light in the dark? 

As our little dance got tearful I stared at the moon watching over us. It looked like a big round eye that had been watching us from a panopticon. Back in the prom night we danced and danced till we were one of the last to remain in the room. Now we turn and twirl under the lone lunar audience. Without the source of light the night will fall, and we would both forget the reason to continue waltzing.

_ When night falls, I stare at the walls, as if expecting the answer to magically appear on them.  _

_ I stare at these walls, wondering why gold is overshadowing purple and slithering through shades of blue. _

_ I wake and wander the halls, hoping for a walk to clear my complicated mind. _

_ I get lost in these halls, just like how I got lost in real life. _

_ And I ache to the bone, the reminder that I am still bound to this world- _

_ It's like nothing I've known, but I do know this clearly- _

“I can't get through this alone … Patton.” 

“I can't get through this alone … Logan.” 

Every blood cell in my vein froze at that raspy and quiet, almost whispering, harmony. I ran my fingers through the thick curly hair of his and pressed our lips together. Soon his thin arms slided in and tightly wrapped around my waist, as if he would suffocate without this kiss. We have not had the kiss this sweet in years.

“Patton, please take this chance-and we'll make a new start. Somewhere far from what keeps us apart, I swear, somewhere in the night, there's a light in the dark, see?”

I would like to believe that his eyes didn’t just reflect the moonlight, but sparkled in … _hope._

When I handed him that cursed consent form he signed it almost immediately, without a hint of hesitation. As he handed the clipboard back to me Doctor Picani slithered back into the room. When he gestured to Patton, he followed him … 

Then he stopped, turned for one last look at me, smiled, and disappeared behind the metal doors.

Maybe Virgil is right. I might be really selfish to push him to take this treatment. I never deserve to be shone with such a teary yet bright smile. But I am aware of the fact that I am selfish enough to be conscious of everything I dedicated to him. 

In the bedroom down the hall, I got him puppy night-lights for protection. He used to say they kept the bad guys far away, and I even volunteered to be a tribute when the actual bad guys break into our room. On his birthday I surprised you with that baking book collection. Next Halloween we dressed up as a funky couple of Frankenstein’s monster and ‘Woof-man.’ We put glow stars on the ceiling so that he could count them instead of sheep, and I always knew which song to sing or constellation stories to get him right to sleep. Would he remember all of those? 

We went to the act that got more and more absurd every evening after dinner. I thought I knew, or at least could find some way that I’d get through to him, but as this surreal show continued, we both got lost in the hazy Cade wonderland. I was fighting a war where no one walked away dead or alive because every day he pulled a little more away. We tried countless numbers of counselors and clinics and the cures a lover tries, because I hoped that maybe they could take away that grief in his eyes.

Anything, literally anything to make you happy. Anything at all … anything for my love. Though I tried - and I know you tried - to give you the world and everything I’ve got. I thought I did give him all I could and it was enough, but now I find that … it was not. It was never enough. Patton, did I let you down? What else could I do? What else could _we_ do? Wait, at least I know what we can do for now.

We can still start over. No, we _will_ start over. I will save you this time, Patton Cade, before you completely fade in the hazy Cade wonderland and I cannot locate you anymore. I will fight off anything that dares to invade your mind. All that aid and money paid and prayers prayed for a decade … I do not care as long as your lovely eyes are laid on me. 

Did I persuade you to take this treatment or were you made by me to do so? What emotions are conveyed in that difference? Yet I do not care about how I am portrayed to others. I will dedicate myself to you as I have always done. 

Farewell, my dead boy walking. 

I’ll see you on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'A Light in the Dark' marks the end of the first act in the original Next to Normal show, so this chapter is like a tiny break (yet it did not feel short while writing.)
> 
> My personal highlight of this chapter is the last few lines, from all those '-ade' rhymes and several musical references with a touch of lingering resignation. I did not randomly pick the last name-it will be elaborated more on the very last chapter-but they turned out to be short and easier to come of with rhymes.
> 
> The university really drags me from continue writing this, even though my goal is to finish this by late October ... wish me luck.
> 
> Thank you for kudo! More kudo and comments are always welcome! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the tenth chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	11. Wish I Were Here / Song of Forgetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton goes through ECT, the electroconvulsive therapy.
> 
> Meanwhile Virgil is succumbing to drug addiction.
> 
> Will this family ever be the same?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kicks the door open*
> 
> *Screech sings I'M ALIVE at the top of the lungs*
> 
> Somebody bomb university ... no JD, I did not mean it literally

♔ “Oh come ooooon, Roro- this is my favorite club! Let’s go in, pretty pleaseee-?”

“Virge, I love you, but you are high, and aren’t three clubs a little much for a Tuesday night-no, Wednesday morning?”

“Oh, come on. They’re playing my favorite song, don’t ruin it with a lecture-”

"They're all your favorite song. Mr. J. D-lightful, what are you on? No, let me guess. A gray, oblong pill Quantum nano-technology CPU-"

"Adderall. Xanax, And Valium. And Robitussin!"

“Since when did _you_ become a bad influence on _me_?”

"Hey, I am under stress, señor Romano. My dad-the mental one-is in a hospital being electrocuted."

_Holy shit._

"Whoa, wait- Virgil!"

It is really hard to _not_ lose the sight of 5’ 6” tall black emo kitten in a club, with crowds of people and blasting music. But at least the thunder of wacky songs provides the best camouflage for the most surreal conversation.  
  
"Seriously-he gets it like every day for two weeks. I can’t even deal. I’d never let them fuck with my brain like that."

Plus nobody cares if you pop a pill and downs it with Red Bull in a club. Well, I _do care_ when he does that.

"No, you’re strictly a do-it-yourself-er."

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☤ Another patient in a head cap and gown rolled in on a gurney. Another ECT to start soon.

“Good morning, Patton. It’s good to see you.”

I like to lean in to the patient and check them one last time as the other doctors prepare for the procedure. Their eyes are clear like a lake - sometimes I can see my reflection on them - but empty. Well, we will soon fill that void with the jolting liveliness. 

“I see you’ve met our anesthesiologist. Now, just breathe normally. Relax. Count backward from one hundred, and before you reach out, you’ll be asleep.”

“When you wake up, you may feel some muscle stiffness, disorientation-don’t worry. It’s completely normal. Patton? Patton? Good.”

Gently place the electrodes against his temples … and here we go.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ Whoa, this place is weird. A bit chilly too … but that might be from this thing papery gown I’m currently wearing. Hold on, is that … _me_ on the table?! 

Oh my goodness. What do I remember? Well, first, it happened in an instant. Lightning flashes, and for the second I got scared that the burst might leave me blind, but when I opened my eyes again, I was here. During the short interval when I closed my eyes, the bolt of lightning crashed and burned right through my mind. 

It's like someone drained my brain out and set my frozen mind to thaw in order to let the lethargy and pain out in that short time. My brain feels empty, not just figuratively but physically. It should be concerning, but at the same time, my head has never been this clean, so I’ll just stand here and watch doctors shocking my body in awe. 

Over the shouts of doctors I am riding on the brightest buzz, worlds away from who I was, and I don’t think I will ever be the same. They told me it would change me, though they don't know how it does, or do they? 

N̷o̷,̷ t̷h̷e̷y̷ d̷o̷n̷'̷t̷ k̷n̷o̷w̷ h̷o̷w̷ i̷t̷ d̷o̷e̷s̷!̷

I have lived a life of clouds and gray, but this is crystal clear. Not bad. So I guess, wish I were here earlier … 

W̷i̷s̷s̷s̷h̷ I̷ w̷e̷r̷e̷ h̷e̷r̷e̷ .̷.̷.̷

I imagine it's remarkable, exuberant, and austere. But to be honest, I don’t know what those words really mean in this situation-I’m just repeating what doctors and Logan told me.

But still, wish I were here …

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☥ What does it feel like when you’re high on drugs? 

Well, it’s euphoria, anger, the winter wind and fire. The sensation of freezing fire and burning ice kills my deepest hunger as it fills me with desire. 

In the hazy Lobe-Cade wonderland the drug threw me in, I am invincible. I'm the light and heat of every sun and a bullet from a magic gun. Yet even though I’m trying to enjoy it, the feeling of being free from all those shackles that breaks my bones and chokes me, but I'm missing all the fun.

Am I feeling what I think I'm feeling? The hope, the heat, the fear? I’m choking on the Forbidden Fruit I took a bite of and slowly succumbing to hallucination. I really shouldn’t have started drugging. But the intrusive knowledge was, as much as it was destructive, just so intriguing, And learning has always been my sanctuary, because knowledge remains true unlike this unstable reality. 

Or is this someone else's head trick? Do I just disappear? No one seems to care or stops to notice that I’m there anyway, so do I get lost in the in-between?

Wish I were here in this hazy Lobe-Cade wonderland _forever_ … 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ “Sweetheart! What are you doing in my electricity?”

“Oh, it’s always about you, isn’t it? I’m robotripping. I can’t feel my legs.”

Did Virgil sound this … snarky? Sarcastic? Didn’t he sound more raspy? 

“I don’t want you doing drugs …”

_This famILY cannot have another drugger!_

“Oh, ssssssure. That’s persuasive, coming from the Pfizer Man of the Year. You’re the one who’s hallucinating.”

That lisp. Stretching the ‘s’ sound. I don’t remember Virgil speaking in this style. Did someone else … ? 

“Well, It’s my treatment. It’s a miracle-everything is different now.”

“Oh, I know what you mean, popsss!”

I solemnly swear, he never spoke with lisp! Plus he never called me ‘pops.’ Even though I suggested it, Virgil has always called both Logan and me dad. But wasn’t there someone who called me pops … ? 

“Plug me in, and turn me on, and flip the switch - I’m good as gone!”

That sounds horrible?!

“It slits my skin, and trips my brain. I feel the burn, but I don't feel the pain!”

_Wait, but if I cannot feel the pain … that might be not that bad._

Jiminy cricket, Patton Cade! You cannot think that way! Is my brain reborn or is it wrecked In freedom or in fear? Have I blown my mind forever? Is cloudy my new clear? 

Wish I were here sooner … then I could have found out the answer faster … 

But I hear the gurney and nurses going, so I must return. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

♔ Virgil? Virgil! Dammit, he finally collapsed.

What kind of gay Disney prince rescues the dark drugged damsel in distress from club? Well, that’s Roman Lucia for you!

Virgil … he’s concerningly thin. And too light for a high schooler. I can almost feel the curves of his ribs under the thick hoodie. Are they even feeding him right- whoa, Roman, you can’t assume them to be abusive! You met them in person, and they were nice people! But are they treating Virgil right? And by ‘right’ I mean, are they providing him the basic needs? Like, food and stuff? Well, his house looked absolutely fancy, so I do not doubt that they're in financial struggle, but ... what about love? Did Virgil grow up with enough parental love every kid deserves? I know he was adopted, which means they chose Virgil because they wanted him, so I do not doubt that they loved him ... but their situation ...

Jesus, why am I drafting a psychological drama featuring my boyfriend?! 

“Dammit, Virge, this is like the fifth night in a row I’ve had to come find you at some random club …”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☸ When I entered the hospital room, there he was, dressed in a fuzzy blue sweater, waiting to go home, sky blue eyes hazy, as if he just woke up. But at least they weren’t lifelessly glossy anymore.

“Patton?” 

He looked at me for a moment, as if trying to recognize who I am. Then he opened his mouth with a great effort-

“Logan.”

_He did not forget about me …_

“Your two weeks are up-time to go home!”

“Home? But-”

“Shh. Don’t talk. Relax.”

He seemed more relaxed when I put his grey cardigan around his shoulder. After all, warmth and comfort are often associated together. 

God willing, I have made the _best_ and most _rational_ decision.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☥ “Okay. You can go. I’m, like, 70 percent less messed up now. No, actually 80 percent, ‘cause viva la Pareto principle.”

He did not go. In fact he did not even budge.

“Seriously, my dad’s gonna be home any minute. He’s bringing my mental dad from the hospital this morning, and you don’t want to be here.”

Maybe applying a tint of desperation worked-he opened his mouth. But his cold yet fiery soul-staring eyes did not change …

“Will you call me?”

“Roman, I don’t have time for a lecture-”

“Virgil Lobe-Cade!”

“Yes I will, now just go!”

I did not miss how he looked hurt, I might be dumb but not too dumb to miss that. I never meant to shout at him. Especially when he dragged me from the club and drove me back to home just in time. But the tone of his voice, with that firm look, sounded like he would hurt me, even though I knew that won’t happen, but my fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and I snapped. In short, someone please kill my misophonia, s'il vous plaît,

How can I hide my stupid hunger and fake some confidence and cheer without using drug? Is there a heaven where you do not have to live in the fear of your depression choking you to death one day? Wish I were there …

Oh shit, they’re home! I’ll take this all in-

“Patton, we’re here.” 

Okay, does my hoodie smell acceptable? Check. Is my hair combed tidily? Well it has always been a perpetual mess, so check. Are my eyes clean, no sign of being high? Kinda unsure but the heavy bags under eyes would be distracting, so check. 

I could not help but stop in the midway of the staircase-

“Heeeeeey! Wow. Uh. You look … great.”

No he didn’t. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were empty. Not the clear lake kind of empty, but the state of vacuum empty.

“Oh, well, thank you. And who are you?”

_What?_

“Who am I?”

That would be a philosophical question … if only the situation was not as bizarre as this. 

“Patton. This is Virgil.”

Um, yeah. Why is he re-introducing me to him?

“Your _son_?”

“Oh. Of course. And this is our house?”

_No, don’t tell me he …_

“Patton, don’t you …” 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“… You don’t remember … any of this?”

“I should, right?” 

Insert the most awkward silence you can ever imagine.

“Okay … Patton, Try to remember how this house and all these rooms looked. And the last Christmas or last year we spent together out back the dogwood blooms?” 

“Do I really live here?” 

“How about these? The paint, the walls, and all this glass and wood we picked together at The Home Depot. You still don't recall? 

“How I wish I could …” 

“What about our house on Walton Way? The one with the red door we painted together. Or our trip to San Tropez? The whole week of a downpour-”

Then Virgil decided to contribute to this guessing game … 

“My first few smiles in this famILY - with last three alphabets capitalized - and my first lost tooth. What, nothing yet? 

… with not so big success. 

“Well, to tell the truth …”

“It’s okay, Pattoncake, this does not have to be a tricky game. Instead, think of it as this way: we’re singing a song of forgetting.”

“… A song?”

“Wha-”

“Allow me to elaborate-it’s a song of the way things were not. We’re singing of what's lost to you, times that you never knew, not remembering when, memories that go unremembered. And then …”

“And then … ?” 

“We sing it again. That day we met our child, Virgil’s first birthday with us, that gray and drizzly morn’ when I've never felt so high-”

“Um … dad, since when were you so … sentimental? Weren’t you notorious for being an emotionless robot?”

“Well-”

No one could argue that Patton couldn’t have chosen better timing to join the conversation … 

“The day we met. And we shared two beers …” 

… and how Logan’s reply had a tint of hope hidden behind the last syllable … 

“Then?” 

… and the quietness of Patton’s answer, barely louder than a whisper … 

“I forget …” 

… and Logan choking on the disappointment.

“But that's nineteen years …“ 

“That Doctor Picnic said there might be some memory loss, didn’t he?”

“It’s Doctor Picani.”

U̷g̷h̷,̷ w̷h̷a̷t̷ a̷ l̷o̷v̷e̷l̷y̷ c̷u̷r̷e̷.̷ I̷t̷'̷s̷ a̷ m̷e̷d̷i̷c̷a̷l̷ m̷i̷r̷a̷c̷l̷e̷,̷ y̷a̷y̷,̷ t̷o̷t̷a̷l̷l̷y̷,̷ v̷i̷v̷a̷ l̷a̷ s̷c̷i̷e̷n̷c̷e̷!̷ W̷i̷t̷h̷ a̷ m̷i̷n̷d̷ s̷o̷ p̷u̷r̷e̷,̷ h̷e̷ w̷o̷n̷'̷t̷ a̷d̷m̷i̷t̷ t̷h̷a̷t̷ h̷e̷ d̷o̷e̷s̷n̷'̷t̷ k̷n̷o̷w̷ a̷n̷y̷t̷h̷i̷n̷g̷,̷ o̷r̷ w̷i̷l̷l̷ h̷e̷ e̷v̷e̷n̷t̷u̷a̷l̷l̷y̷?̷

“It's there, I'm sure. 'Cause memories don't die.” 

“Why?” 

“They don't die.”

“They die.”

“I'll try... ”

_Thus we sing a song of forgetting. A song of the way things were not. Sing of what’s lost to him them me, of times that he they I never knew. Sing of not remembering when, of memories that go unremembered and then. Would he they  I ever return to normal? Nobody knows, all we can do for now is to wait for it._

_Then we would sing a song of forgetting … again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was I supposed to write backup chapters while trying to survive college? Yes.
> 
> But did I ? No.
> 
> But still, thank you everyone for waiting this! I'm still planning to finish this before Halloween, so I'll try my best to stay on track.
> 
> In addition, as you might've assumed from the tags, Act 2 continues to get darker and darker, so be prepared ^^
> 
> Listening to the soundtrack of Next to Normal will definitely help! The classic game of guessing the plot just from the lyrics.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the 11th chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	12. Hey #1 / Seconds and Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman tried to ask Virgil out to a dance. (Keyword: 'tried.')
> 
> Meanwhile, Patton's condition meets a new approach ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl the newest update hyped me up, like a photon that absorbed enough energy to jump up to the higher energy level

♔ “Hey!”

“Hey.” 

“I've missed you these days, Virgil.” 

A dazed, empty stare. 

“I thought you might call? It's been weeks, Virge, what happened?”

Panic flashing across the eyes, as if I asked something I shouldn’t. I can see the chaos and panic exploding inside his eyes yet he remains quiet and seemingly calm. As if he knows how to silence himself. 

“… I've been crazed.” 

“Hey, hey, calm down … have you been on the scene? 'Cause you look like a mess.” 

He really did. If he was a little emo nightmare, now he’s just a solid nightmare. Even the thickest and darkest eyeshadows could not hide the bags under his empty eyes. His skin was dangerously pale, paler than a sheet of blank paper. His hair was disastrous, and his bangs were beginning to fade back to pitch black, but he did not seem to mind losing the signature shade of purple in his hair-as if he had nothing left to lose. 

“Thanks, I guess?” 

“Are you clean?” 

“Wow, coming from you... 

Ouch.

“I don't do what you do?!” 

“Okay, how did it start?” 

O U C H.

“But you took it too far-” 

“Oh, I took it too far? Really?!” 

“Hey, hey, calm down-” 

“Roman, don't!” 

“Are we over?” 

“Don't do this to me!” 

“Don't say that we're over-” 

“Don't you want us to be?” 

“No, I want who I knew. He's somewhere in you …” 

What happened to that boy with purple in his hair and mesmerizing heterochromia? The boy who would jam to MCR as he finishes up his Tim Burton-sque artwork? The boy who would scribble stars on the cuffs of his ripped jeans whenever he got bored? The boy in baggy black hoodie with handmade purple-and-black plaid patches sewn on? The boy I fell in love with? Where is Virgil Lobe-Cade? 

“Wa-Virgil, hold on!”

Dammit, he really knows how to blend into the public and disappear. But if there is one advantage of being 6’1”, it would be that I can slide through the crowded hallway like Moses. People would not want to bump into a buffy( _cough-_ ) giant anyway. 

“Hey, say … will you come to this dance?”

Annoyed but confused look. 

“It's some spring formal dance-it's March 1st, and it's cheese. But it's fun and it's free, so-” 

“I don't do dances.”

Yeah. You didn’t seem like an active type. But still- 

“Do this dance with me?” 

With seven inches of height difference? But I can make that work! So pretty please-

“Goodbye, Roman.”

“What? Virgil, Virgil, wait up!”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

♕ “So … how did it go?”

“HHHhggghhhHHgggH.”

“Robro, even Google Translate cannot comprehend that shit.”

“HHHHHHHHHHHH.”

The only logical conclusion: He is fucked up.

Well hello there. Remus Lucia on the line, and this might be your first time reading this in my point of view. 

Right now we’re in the car we share (to Roman’s great dismay, not mine.) It was originally red but we *somehow* made the deal to paint half of it green, so that it can radiate navidad (not Christmas we die in hispanic) vibe in July and confuse the cops and passerby. Usually he’s the one behind the wheels, but for today I’m driving, since Roman is apparently in an … unstable condition. He’s curled up in the backseat, surrounded by piles of empty pop cans he would’ve despised in normal situations, crying more dramatically than any other Shakespearean writings. 

Yep, undeniably fucked up.

“Chilax, bro.”

“I caaaaaannoooooot-”

“Ugh, don’t make me to do this, but here we go: Roman, I know my brother like I know my own mind-”

“No, you are NOT quoting the bestest song from the entire track in this-”

“No one will ever find anyone as trusting or as kind.”

“Awwwwww, ¡gracias bro!”

But if I tell him that I love him, he’d be silently resigned and he’d be mine. He would say “I’m fine” but then I will know he’d be lying. I cannot continue singing to that part.

Because really, Virgil Lobe-Cade was my dream personified. Intelligent eyes in a hunger-pang frame. Mesmerizing heterochromia and purple dyed hair. Straight As on the report. And especially that aesthetic, something like Tim Burton with just enough amount of spookiness and goreyness for my taste. I’ve never seen anyone whose taste was just like mine. I’ve never thought about finding anyone like that. It felt like … I found my own oasis. He even complimented my painting that made the art teacher nauseous! That was the moment when my crush officially bloomed. 

Then I saw Roman’s face-and how he was breath taken and his eyes sparkled and how he was basically drooling over how skillfully Virgil weaved various shades of purples and created golden violet or green purple. God he just looked so helpless, fascinated at the rainbow magic he created. I do admit that I was mad when he asked Vee out, and struggled for a while to swallow down that absurd anger, but as I have heard and seen how Virgil is … falling apart, now I think I am ready to let it go. 

Virgil needs some positivity in his life. No one might be able to cure the hurts and scars, and I can only treat them, but I do not doubt that Roman can heal them. I clearly know that I cannot provide any positivity to him, yet I also know that Roman … can provide it. Was proton the positive one? Dunno, I slept through most of the physics class, but I do remember this: opposites attract!

“Roman, you still have two or three weeks. There are more chances to ask him out again. And there is no way your little emo nightmare will reject his gay Disney prince, so when I drop you off at home, stay hydrated, and take a nap. After all you can’t spell romance without Roman!”

“… Yeah, you’re right. I will. Thanks, Remus. I think I can figure out my chemically imbalanced romance.” 

Spoiler: when he calls me Remus, not by any other wacky uncreative nicknames, things don’t usually go well.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☤ ”This much loss is rare, but it has been reported. It may be partly psychogenic-at times like this the mind tends to repress troubling memories. But they’re still there, somewhere. They tend to return in fits and starts.”

“It’s been two weeks.”

“A little loss of memory is normal. And helpful in forgetting all his fears too.”

“Ha, I couldn't give a flying f what's normal … we haven't had a normal day in years.”

“Well, we can always find out! Patton. Are things becoming clearer with the treatment?”

“Well, yes.”

“Is life less cloudy than it was before?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still feel your head is filled with concrete?”

“No. … And you're not a scary rock star anymore.”

“Okay. Great.”

"But what about his memory?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing in Remus' POV! (At least in my interpretation) Remus is a very good brother and genuinely loves and cares about Roman! Yes I really pulled up the Satisfied reference, inspired the Congratulations animatic by aidensm8. That one is beautiful, but the So Big, So Small animatic is absolutely a piece of art, so you should check out their channel!
> 
> But would Remus make a physics reference? Dunno, unless you convince your Intrulogical brain hard enough
> 
> I think I might or might not be able to finish this on October 25th. Why that specific date? You will find out ... soon.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the 12th chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	13. Better Than Before / Aftershocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family bonding event to restore Patton's lost memory ...
> 
> accompanied with an unwanted invisible guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Updating next chapter within 24 hours? What a surprise.

☤ “The memories are there somewhere. Find some pictures you can share-keepsakes of the life that's there behind him.” 

“Should I bring up the subject of, um …” 

“Yes … But keep it light at first-that's best. Careful that he's not distressed. And when the time's right, tell the rest … remind him, then you'll find him.”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☸ That was what he told me when he took me aside after the session. So here we are, all three of us, sitting in the kitchen, with a box of photos and keepsakes on the table.

It has been years since our last family bonding event.

“So, let's start with something small-something personal and pretty. I bet you'll know these shiny things, Patton.” 

“They must be tacky trinkets from, I guess, Atlantic City?” 

“No, actually, Pat, they're our wedding rings.” 

“It's going well!” 

Virgil no. No sarcasm in this house.

“Here's a flower from our wedding. It was such a sight to see-and the ceremony everything we'd hoped.” 

“Um, Dad?” 

“Well, that's how I remember it, so that's how it'll be.”

Even if that is highly illogical and definitely NOT what I would usually do, but … this is a special case. 

“First of all, it was raining. And it was Portland where you eloped. I mean, Portland. Really, dad?” 

Virgil, you don’t understand. This is the best option we’ve got. Patton’s current memory-it's an open book to write here. The memories that are reimplemented into his mind? It's a life we can restore. The life when he wasn’t so … depressed. We can get back what we had and maybe more. Maybe … get us back to better than before. 

“You’re missing a few pictures here, aren’t you, Dad? Didn’t the doctor say-”

“The doctor said at the right time.”

“Oh, well then.”

“Patton, here's the year we drove the west. We hit the highway in the Honda and I took pictures everywhere we went, remember these? We saw the painted desert, the Grand Canyon and Aunt Rhonda. And Vee learned what his middle finger meant, unfortunately.” 

ㅗ(*^^*)ㅗ

“Here's the first house that we owned on Walton Way, we loved that place! Then we built this one on land that we both chose. And here's a pic of all of us with smiles on every face, and the photoshopping hardly even shows!”

All hail technology. 

“You're standing by a lake with all these ducks! Really, you should’ve ducked out, Logan. Get it? ‘Duck’ out?”

“Yes, yes I do, Patton.”

“And who's this dark strange boy? 

“That's Virgil.” 

“Ugh, this sucks. Sign me out-”

“Hey, Vee, trying to leave so soon? This is going to get us back to normal.”

And it is going to get us back to good, back to what we had and maybe more, back to good times and forget … the things we should. 

“This is going to get us back to, no, we can get things back to better than before. So I strongly suggest participating in this activity, Virgil.”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☥ “Alright, fine. If you really say so.”

Let’s try a different stack of photos … ah, this one’s good. 

“Here's the headline in the paper when you freaked out at the market. And here's the house on Walton Way after the fire.”

What kind of psychopathic reporter would make someone freaking out in public a goddamn headline? Screw media. 

“Virgil-”

“Here's the damage to the Honda when you showed me how to park it, dad.” 

“Aww, wait … did we crush somebody's cat beneath the tire?” 

“Yes, ours.” 

“Noooooo-”

Pluto I love you. You are the best black fluffy feline friend forever.

“OK dad, stop crying over spilt milk (you mean a dead kitty-) fine, a dead kitty and take a look at more pictures. Here's dad at my recital and we're wondering where you are.”

It was one of the few times when both of them were present. I recognize that photo-it was all the way back to 6th grade.

“Oh, I remember this, I made it to the school!” 

“Wait, you remember?” 

“It was the year of too much lithium. I hid out in the car, I think?”

“Yes, yes you did, Patton!” 

“And your swim meet- just last year- I'm in the pool!” 

“So you are, dad.” 

“You're getting it, you've got it Pat, hooray!” 

“Your life has kind of sucked, I think?” 

“You've got it dad, yay hooray!”

I'll admit, even if it was meant to be sarcastic, the optimism ... didn't feel so bad.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“I’m … I’m gonna get back what I lost there. Find out who I was … and open up the gates and let it pour.” 

“That’s the spirit, Patton. And if memory makes things better … well, memory always does. It will get us back to better than before, so let’s look through more keepsakes, shall we?”

_ Make everything much better than before. This is working! _

_ Make everything much better than before … I guess it must be. _

_ Won't anything be better than before? _

When the music box ended up in Patton’s hand, he looked at it a long moment before Logan realized, and whisked it away … 

… unaware of a pair of golden orbs staring at his soul. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚕ Ssssso … let usss review and get this ssssstraight.

They've managed to get rid of me from hisss memory, and returned me to the grave. ECT, electroconvulsssive therapy, formerly known as electrossshock therapy? More like an electric chair! They just ssssshock who they can't sssssave! Popsss, you ssssshould’ve realized earlier.

They've cleared you of my memory and many more as well. Now popsss, you may have wanted sssssome of them, but who can ever tell? They have invented a new kind of ssstupid: a damage you can never undo, kind of ssstupid, an “an open all the cages in the zoo,” kind of ssstupid. Truly, they didn’t think thisss through? Kind of ssssstupid! 

Buy hey, popsss, at leassst your brainwavesss are more regular now, the chemissstry more pure! The headachesss and the nausssea will passsss, and you’ll endure! You can live in the perfect family you’ve alwaysssss wanted! Your *eldessst* ssson is gone forever, though, of that the doctor’sss sssure. The memoriesss will wane, the afterssshocks remain.

You wonder which is worssse, the sssymptom or the cure …

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ “Patton? Honey? Still sorting through more photos and papers? You’ve been at this for days.”

“There’s something missing, Logan. It’s like it’s tugging at me. I can almost see it.”

“… Come to bed. If the memories are meant to come back … they will.” 

I did not miss the hesitation hiding behind every single word. What is he- oh, there’s someone outside!

“Oh. Sorry, Mr. Cade, I just needed to talk to Virgil about some homework. I know it’s late. He’s not answering his … is everything all right?”

“… Roman.”

“Yes?”

“You remind me of someone. How old are you?”

“Seventeen. Why?”

“… I don’t know. Virgil’s in his room.”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚕ They've managed to get rid of me, asss if I’m sssssome kind of a mental bullet planted deep down the darkessst corner of the brain. I'm gone without a trace, but sssssear the sssssoul and leave a ssssscar no treatment can erassse-they've cut away the cancer but forgot to fill the hole where I once occupied!

Popsss, they moved me from your memory, but I'm ssssstill there in your sssssoul. I alwaysssss wasssss, alwaysssss am, and alwaysssss will. Your life goesss back to normal now? Or ssssso they all believe! Your heart isss in your chessst again, not hanging from your sssleeve! They've driven out the demonsssss and they've earned you this reprieve! 

Ssssso yeah, congratulationsssss! For the ressssst of your life!

The memoriesss are gone, but the afterssshocksss live on-alongssside me. 

But with nothing to remember … isss there nothing left to grieve?

W̷i̷t̷h̷ n̷o̷t̷h̷i̷n̷g̷ t̷o̷ r̷e̷m̷e̷m̷b̷e̷r̷ .̷.̷.̷ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the name Pluto comes from The Black Cat by Edgar Allan Poe, except this Pluto would never harm Virgil. Virgil made a plushie that just looks like his dear kitten!
> 
> The unwanted perks of knowing Korean: you can type emoji with double middle fingers.
> 
> Logan is trying his hard, everyone please be aware of his effort to keep this dysfunctional family together
> 
> Last chapter you had Remus quoting Satisfied, and now you have Janus quoting Congratulations! NGL Congratulations should have remained on the track
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the 13th chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	14. Hey #2 / You Don't Know (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman tried to ask Virgil out ... again.
> 
> Meanwhile Patton finally knows what he didn't know ...

♔ When I slipped in, Virgil was in his room, but not maniacally studying on his tidily messy desk. Instead, he was curled up on his bed, clutching the black cat plushie (that seemed to be handmade) tightly, staring at the void.

“Hey …” 

“... Hey.” 

“So, um, tomorrow's the dance.” 

An empty blink.

“It's annoying, I know, but let's go.” 

“Not a chance.”

The touch of sarcasm almost tricked me to hope the Virgil Lobe-Cade I loved returned. 

“Let me know you again, let me know who Virgil Lobe-Cade is again!” 

I never meant to sound so … aggressive. Or even desperate. But my vocal cord betrayed me. 

“Not right now.” 

“Okay, when? Say wait and I'll wait!” 

And then the tsunami of emotion choked me.

“Can’t you see? It's already too late!” 

“There's no way it's too late-” 

“Hey-” 

“There's no way-” 

“Hey!“

“I stayed by your side?!” 

“Will you listen? Just shut up and listen!” 

Silence always arrives right after the explosion of two intense emotions. But it is never a soothing kind, but the kind that concludes a war where no one walked away a winner.

“… Virgil, can you at least tell me why do I get denied? ¿Por favor?” 

“… You remind me of me … and how fucked up I can be.” 

_Ow …_

“Okay … hey, Let's start over, clean slate. Can we? I'll come by here at 8. If you show, then cool, we'll go. If you don't, well, we'll see.” 

“You just don't give up, won’t you, Lucia?” 

He immediately threw this when he noticed me pulling the dance tickets from my pocket. Once again I was almost fooled by the snarkiness … 

“So don't give up on me?” 

He just lied there so still while I left one ticket beside him and began to head out. So I silently slipped to the resignation and mentally prepared myself to not be disappointed if he doesn’t arrive. But right before I closed the door, I did not miss that mix of resignation and relinquishment sprinkled with reluctance, so my stupid heart fluttered in hope.

_“Goodbye, Roman …”_

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ It's been four weeks since the treatment.

And my mind is still a mess.

Logan says I’m getting better, but I know I am not. At least I know _that_.

And what's left to be remembered? Well, it's anybody's guess.

'Cause my past is like the weather: it will come and it will go. I try to get a grasp of it but it escapes through my fingers.

I don't know, even know what it is that I don't know! 

I'm some Christopher Columbus sailing out into my mind, I think? Though I know Columbus was a _NASTY_ guy who abused the natives. (Why didn’t the textbook teach us back then?) I’m trying to figure out my lost past with no map of where I'm going or of what I've left behind. Whenever something sparks in my mind I’ll try to grab it, but I end up hurting my head and reluctantly let it go. In terms of abusiveness I’m not so different from Columbus, except it is myself that I am abusing. 

I don't know the things I don't know! I know that I don’t know something, but I do not know what those are! I'm sure something's missing, I wish it would show … 

I don't know, Logan, you say take it slow. And I do, although, how I do? I don't know!

Logan, you seem to know what I don’t know. Well, you knew lots of things anyway. But why can’t you just tell me what I don’t know?! 

“Are you talking with your husband?” 

“Well, he hasn't much to say, really.” 

“Is it helping you remember?” 

“I remember that's his way?” 

“Okay, does the puzzle come together, piece by piece and row by row?” 

“I don't know, I don't know where the fucking pieces go!”

Stunned silence.

“… Sorry. It’s 'cause I don't know how this started, so I won't know when it's done.” 

“Have you talked of your depression, your delusions, and your son?”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☤ “You mean Virgil, right?”

“No. The other one. Wait, your husband didn’t- I think you two … should talk more.” 

“We should talk more? That’s it? I don’t even remember marrying this man, it’s not like I’m some sexually frustrated soccer dad or something!”

“Interestingly, the underlying challenges are similar. I’ll see you next week.”

“But-”

“Next week.”

_ God willingly, it’s only a matter of time …  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... And from this point everything spirals down to angstiest drama
> 
> Yes Virge is hugging the Pluto plushie he made in dear memory of his best black fluffy feline friend forever!
> 
> Columbus Day, or Indigenous Peoples' Day was a few days ago, and that inspired me to add comments on how shitty Columbus actually was. Heck he was worse than those conquistadors. Is this American centralism?
> 
> Usually reprise might be shorter but makes the song better, and You Don't Know Reprise is not an exception. Especially the impact the last line delivers ...
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the 14th chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	15. How Could I Ever Forget? / It's Gonna Be Good (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton finally regained memory ... maybe it shouldn't have happened. MAYBE.

⚕ _Hey pop star pops, here’s the music box. Please take it, and try to remember me this time, alright?_

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ …Huh?

How did this music box end up in my hands?

I think I should open it. No, I should. I have to listen to this.

“What are you doing?”

The music stopped as soon as I shut it. If only life was as easy as this … 

“Logan, what is this?”

“Where did you get that? It’s nothing, an old music box. I’ll take-”

“No. You’re not taking it this time. We played it for the baby. Sometimes it helped him sleep.”

“Patton-”

“Him. We did have a boy.”

“You mean Virgil, righ-”

“No. The one before him.”

“Patton. You-you shouldn’t.”

“We were still living downtown …” 

“It’s not a good idea-” 

“My black coat thrown over my blue nightgown. You drove too fast, the lights of the city flew past …” 

“Please. Don’t.”

“How could I ever forget? Outside the morning was cool and wet. He had such chills, but still he lay there so still … too still for a baby who turned just 18 months old. So cold, we ran him inside, lost, worrying, wondering. That hospital room, that gloom …” 

“Patton, please, don’t do this to yourself-”

_ How could I ever forget? Screaming at doctors, alarmed, upset. They said to wait-but they never said we were too late. But I was a child … raising a child …  _

_ How could I ever forget? God, I was so upset. Patton, don't, you think this will help, but it won't. So many years ago … so much we could not know … _

“Those weeks full of joy, then a moment of dread. Someone simply said your child is …”

_How could I ever forget? This was the moment my life was set. That day that I lost you … it's clear as the day we met. How could I ever forget?_

_How could I ever forget? This was the moment my life was set. That day that I lost you ... it's clear as the day we met. How could I ever forget?_

“Why would you want to remember the things that hurt you?”

“I want to remember everything, Logan. How did he die?”

“He was sick.”

“With what? Why wasn’t he treated? What was wrong?”

“...It was something the doctors all missed. The clinic, the ER, each specialist, they said, “Babies cry, allergies, guess who knows why.” And I was a child … raising a child. We stayed up all night. Most nights you slept by his side … but still, he just cried and cried.”

“He was a baby when he died. But I remember him … older.”

“No. He was a baby. We should call Doctor Picani.”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“Why would we call Doctor Picani? I’m just trying to make sense of this. God-what was his name? I don’t remember ever hearing you say his name. Why is that?”

“Patton.”

“What was his name? Tell me.”

“It's gonna be fine. We’re going back to the doctor 'cause we caught it just in time.” 

“No-”

“We'll take the pills-” 

“His name-” 

“We'll pay the bills. We'll do more ECT-” 

“Our son-” 

“It's gonna be good, you'll see.” 

At this point he sounded less like trying to reassure Patton and more like trying to reassure _himself_.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

♔ Ugh, I still cannot trust Ree’s fashion advice. Does he really think I’m gonna slay this red tuxedo? Of course princey’s gotta slay, but it’s not any kind of red-it’s _bloody_ red!

Huh, the front door’s open. But I’m still gonna knock- no response- knock again- still no response-

I think I can go inside?

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☥ It’s almost time. The time Roman promised to pick me up.

Am I ready? Maybe.

Am I excited? Hell no.

Am I _allowed_ to enjoy this? … I don’t know. 

Am I dressed for this? Well, yes?

Which colored shirt goes better with a purple jacket: black or white? I settled with a black one with a white tie, but … gah, I might be an art kid but I’m not _the_ art kid. My only forte from color palettes is shades or purple, alright?! At least I’m satisfied with a lavender formal coat. 

I should head downstairs … 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

“What was his name?” 

“It's gonna be good, you'll see, Patton.” 

Every word Patton barely managed to spit out broke into an agonizing sob.

“What was his name?” 

_Oh hey Roman. Didn’t expect you to be downstairs alrea- oh noooooo._

“It's going to be-”

”What was his name?” 

_C̷a̷n̷’̷t̷ I̷ b̷e̷ f̷r̷e̷e̷ f̷r̷o̷m̷ m̷i̷s̷o̷p̷h̷o̷n̷i̷a̷ j̷u̷s̷t̷ f̷o̷r̷ o̷n̷e̷ n̷i̷g̷h̷t̷-̷_

“Gonna be-” 

“What was his NAME?!” 

_O̷h̷ g̷o̷d̷.̷ T̷h̷i̷s̷ i̷s̷ t̷h̷e̷ w̷o̷r̷s̷t̷ a̷t̷t̷a̷c̷k̷ e̷v̷e̷r̷.̷ G̷o̷ d̷o̷w̷n̷ t̷o̷ R̷o̷m̷a̷n̷-̷ I̷ c̷a̷n̷n̷o̷t̷-̷ m̷i̷g̷h̷t̷ c̷o̷l̷l̷a̷p̷s̷e̷ i̷n̷ t̷h̷e̷ m̷i̷d̷w̷a̷y̷-̷_

“It will be good-”

“Why won’t you tell me?!”

_B̷r̷e̷a̷t̷h̷ i̷n̷ f̷o̷r̷ f̷o̷u̷r̷ s̷e̷c̷o̷n̷d̷s̷.̷ T̷h̷e̷n̷ h̷o̷l̷d̷ i̷t̷ f̷o̷r̷ s̷e̷v̷e̷n̷-̷ w̷a̷i̷t̷,̷ w̷a̷s̷ i̷t̷ s̷e̷v̷e̷n̷ o̷r̷ e̷i̷g̷h̷t̷?̷_

“Listen-”

“Is it really that difficult?”

_V̷i̷r̷g̷i̷l̷ L̷o̷b̷e̷-̷C̷a̷d̷e̷,̷ r̷e̷p̷e̷a̷t̷ a̷f̷t̷e̷r̷ m̷e̷.̷ N̷o̷ f̷a̷m̷i̷l̷i̷c̷i̷d̷e̷ i̷n̷ f̷r̷o̷n̷t̷ o̷f̷ t̷h̷e̷ g̷u̷e̷s̷t̷.̷ B̷u̷t̷ w̷h̷y̷ c̷a̷n̷’̷t̷ I̷ j̷u̷s̷t̷ V̷a̷n̷ G̷o̷g̷h̷ m̷y̷s̷e̷l̷f̷-̷_

“That goddamn music box-”

“Just tell me already!”

_O̷r̷ S̷w̷e̷e̷n̷e̷y̷ T̷o̷d̷d̷ t̷h̷e̷m̷-̷ b̷u̷t̷ n̷e̷e̷d̷ a̷ k̷n̷i̷f̷e̷ f̷o̷r̷ t̷h̷a̷t̷-̷ a̷n̷d̷ I̷ c̷a̷n̷'̷t̷ h̷o̷l̷d̷ a̷n̷y̷t̷h̷i̷n̷g̷ r̷i̷g̷h̷t̷ n̷o̷w̷-̷_

“Should've discarded earlier-”

“What was his name, what was his name!?”

A crashing silence. Finale of shattering sanity. 

“Jesus, Dad!”

_M̷y̷ h̷o̷u̷s̷e̷ i̷s̷ a̷ n̷i̷g̷h̷t̷m̷a̷r̷e̷.̷ I̷t̷ i̷s̷ a̷ N̷I̷G̷H̷T̷M̷A̷R̷E̷.̷ T̷H̷E̷ M̷O̷N̷S̷T̷E̷R̷ T̷H̷A̷T̷ D̷E̷V̷O̷U̷R̷S̷ M̷E̷ A̷L̷I̷V̷E̷.̷ A̷N̷D̷ I̷ C̷A̷N̷N̷O̷T̷ R̷U̷N̷ A̷W̷A̷Y̷-̷_

_ "Wait- Virgil!"  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan. There is no word for a parent who loses a child. That’s how awful the loss is. – Jay Neugeboren, An Orphan’s Tale – 1976
> 
> As a person with Misophonia (with especially bad degrees) I myself can confirm that urge to either cut your ears off or slit others' throat open is a constant misophonia mood. Yeah, that's where the randomest pair of Van Gogh and Sweeney Todd comes from
> 
> Last chapter I mentioned that reprise is usually shorter but makes the song better, and It's Gonna Be Good Reprise is not an exception as well. The instrumental at the intro ... is a pure lunacy.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the 15th chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	16. Why Stay? / A Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone doubts and contemplates on their life and romance choices.

⚜ White state.

Why stay? 

So steadfast and stolid and stoic and solid for day after every day. 

Am I even getting better? Am I even on the right track? 

If yes, then no, then, why stay?

Why not simply give in and get on with living? I actually tried that. Tried to live and die. But I failed at both. Then why am I still alive?

'Cause everyone knows you tried, Patton. They really do. Or maybe that’s what Logan’s been convinced to believe so.

Though they don’t know whether you’re trying to survive or not. Even I don’t know that.

Ha, there are still lots of things I don’t know. I know or don’t know what I know or don’t know. Like I know something died on the way … but I still don’t know what it is. 

And you still don’t know where you are. Mentally. 

_So tell me why you stay!_

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

♔ Virgil? It’s me, Roman. Can I come in? Alright, I’m coming in.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☥ White state.

Why stay? 

Enduring and coping and hurting and hoping for day after fucking day. 

Am I going to live within the constant urge to either cut my ears off or slit their throat open forever? Will this suffering ever stop? 

If yes, then no, then, why stay?

Why not simply end it? I have the capability to do so. I did not choose to be born in this way. But I _did_ choose this family. So I can choose how to end this dysfunctional family angst shit, right?

We'd all comprehend it anyway. Besides, most of the world would say … 

_"He's better off that way. To be free … and maybe so is he."_

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☸ A promise, a boy says forever. 

A boy says, “Whatever may come, we'll come through. And who can know how when all I know now to be true!” 

God, I was so stupid. And so naive. Is this the promise that I really made to you?

A question, a boy wonders whether the two stay together the way that they stay for year after year, for love or from fear. 

Either way, that's the promise that I made that day-to the boy who was burning so brightly, like the light from Orion above. Just like that starry night sky we watched together, rested on the yard, feeling the gentle breeze and tickles of grass, whispering eternal love and devotion. 

And still I will search for him nightly, for I won’t know where I am or where I should go without my polaris. So please, if you see him, please send him my love. 

And the boy was a boy for all seasons. That boy is long lost to me now, only a portion of a distant past memory, and the man has forgotten his reasons. But the man still remembers his vow-the vow to take him, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

♔ The two stay together the way that they stay for year after year, for love or from fear!

That was my favorite kind of happy ending, and I hoped my romance would end like that too. 

But as I pet Virgil’s soft hair, who’s lifelessly curled up on the bed, not bothering to take off the coat, I begin to doubt whether I will get my own happy ending. Well, either way- 

“Whatever may come, we'll come through. And who can know how when all I know now to be true!”

Is this the promise that I really made to you? Am I ready to be responsible for its consequences? A boy can only wonder. 

Should I stay here? Petting his hair is definitely not going to solve the problem. But I cannot leave him alone either. Even I can sense the storm that’s coming from downstairs, and I highly doubt Virge’s gonna survive that. Either way, here's what I say to the boy, the boy in purple who was burning so brightly like the light from Orion above-

In greek mythology, Orion was a giant huntsman who *befriended* Artemis, the virgin goddess of hunting, wild nature, and chastity. Legend says that the constellation named after him shines so brightly-for a constellation named after an *extra* character-so that the moon, Artemis, can see him clearly. 

Initially I thought I loved the star I shouldn’t love. Then I began to wonder whether we are the star-crossed lovers, destined to wander forever. But I still believe that the fault is not in our stars and we can work on it to get better.

Naïveté? Sure, you can criticize me with that. But I can _sense_ you, Virgil. The boy who’s long lost, forgotten his reasons to make that choice. A part of me that finds a hope in holding on, won't give up what isn't, and wants to share the hurt and heartache is strongly attracted to Virgil Lobe-Cade and will never let you go. 

_So now Virgil, can you give me one more chance and don't give up, please … ?_

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☸ A promise, a man says forever.

A man says, I'll never regret or let you. 

It is the promise I made to stay. And I stayed true-at least tried my best to stay true-knowing one day we'd remember that joy. You'd remember that boy, whose smile was brighter than the sun, and I'd remember that boy, bespectacled boy dressed in blue, who was smart with math but stupid with love. 

'Til we do, I'll make it brand new-the promise that I made to you. 

Patton, you have been my only reason to live for years. You were my only lifeline, the source of happiness and hope. Maybe you were a shackle that dragged me back to reality. Or maybe you were a noose hung around my neck, in disguise of guilt, and I thrived every day in your mercy. But I do not care whether you silently choke me to my demise. As long as I can feel your presence in my life … that would be enough. 

_So please …_

_༻ ﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺_

A pair of gold eyes observes a color palette.

Indigo and blue are still. As if a single motion might break them. They are right next to each other, and they blend in perfect harmony of light and dark. Yet they seem so separated, as if losing their color in confusion.

Red holds violet to him. As if violet would disappear without him. They are right next to each other, and they clash together in sparkling red and darkling violet. Yet they seem so serene, as if the fog is finally cleared. 

An intriguing sameness between two different couples. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two lines are actually a repetition of 'why stay?' but it sounded like 'white state' to my ears. After all it does make sense: why stay (in a) white state?
> 
> 4th anniversary of Sanders Sides gave me just enough amount of energy to upload this
> 
> But happy birthday to Sanders Sides! I joined this fandom only a few months ago, around summer. Yet I have never seen the fandom that produces loads of quality *treats* (prompts, AUs, theories, character dynamics, etc) every week with as much passion as the creator himself (Yay Thomathy!) and so kind and open minded. 
> 
> In such accepting fandom, I can freely express my love of the musical that gave me reason to live-in form of this fanfic. (but still, listen to Next to Normal)
> 
> I'm honored to be a member of famders and will continue supporting Thomas Sanders!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the 16th chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	17. I'm Alive (Reprise) / The Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil had to leave Roman behind to hold on to the helpless hope.
> 
> Meanwhile Patton finally realizes what others have stopped him from even considering-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kicks the door open and flips the table*
> 
> I-SURVIVED-THE-MIDTERM-SEASON-

⚕ I am more than memory-you know that too. I am what might be: your guilt, trauma, worst nightmare. But most times, I am mystery. _So come closer…_

“Logan.” 

Come on, don’t back away. I know you can see me. _Come closer…_

“Patton, there’s nothing there. Patton? Patton?”

I am old as time and forever young in your mind. I am every song that will stay unsung as long as you keep ignoring me like you’ve always done. You can’t just label me ‘illogical’ and pretend like I never existed in the first place. _So I'll find you…_

“Oh no. He’s-”

“God _damn_ it!”

_Remind you…_

“Virgil? Virgil!”

“Pat-come back here!”

Aww, pops. Finally began to take care of Virgil? Please go ahead, my business doesn’t involve you anyway. Dad, I thought you were smarter than this? When will you stop ignoring me and pretend to live a *normal* life? I was-am still a part of your life. Until you name me you can't tame me. After all, this is one old game that I can play so well! I'm alive, so alive, in fact never felt this alive! The medicine failed, the doctors lied-I am death defied.

Virgil on the top of the staircase, and pop at the bottom. It’s just a flight across the stairs, what makes it so hard for you to cross it and slowly head back down the stairs? Wait, if Vee’s out in the hallway that means that Lucia boy is in his room … let’s just say I don’t trust him. It’s not a snakey sense-that stoner turned Virge into a drug addict! Life is not a fairytale where Prince Charming arrives and rescues you from all the distress one day. Though, if that Princey can … _support_ Virgil … 

“I can’t go to your dance. I have to take my dad to the doctor.”

“I’ll drive. And I can drive you back to home.”

“No.”

_I’m alive- _

“Let me help you, Virgil. I’m not a stranger in your life!”

“You can’t.”

“Patton? You can’t just leave only with a coat!”

“Heard that? Just go. _Please._ ”

_ I'm alive … _

“Look, it’s not the end of the world. I’ll try to come later, okay?”

“I’ll wait for you there, Virgil.”

“Virgil! We’re leaving!”

_ I’m alive. _

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ I don’t know anymore.

They told me that the wiring was somehow all misfiring and screwing up the signals in my brain. And then the chemistry and the juice not the circuitry was mixing up and making me insane? 

If they’re absolutely true-as all doctors should be-how am I even _functioning_?

What happens when the burn has healed, but the skin has not regrown? 

What happens when the cast, at last, comes off and then you find the break was always in another bone? 

Was I _not_ broken after all? So all those so-called therapies were unnecessary? 

They tried a million meds and they strapped me to their beds and they shrugged and told me, "That's the way it goes." But was it really?

And finally they hit it! I asked them just what did it, they shrugged and said that no one really knows … ! So what is the point of keeping doing this if no one knows whether this is right or wrong? 

What happens if the medicine wasn't really in control? 

What happens if the cut, the burn, the break was never in my brain, or in my blood, but in my soul? 

… Because really, my problem was spiritual, not mental. Playing with the systems inside my brain never fixed my issue. It was inside my heart, dragging it low.

_ I don't need these treatments anymore! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More like: dragging lo...gan. I had a great temptation to put that pun, but it went against the tone of this chapter so no.
> 
> Next to Normal, I'd say, is like 80% sad and 20% happy. It does wrap up in a 'sappy' ending, an ending that is hopeful enough to convince the viewers. And the creators somehow managed to drain every drop of comedy from last 20 minutes-but I still sprinkled some essence of comedy here and there.
> 
> But still, expect the wild drama till the very end.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the 17th chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	18. Make Up Your Mind / Catch Me I'm Falling (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton won't rely on those so-called 'therapies' anymore!
> 
> Roman still waits for Virgil, as Remus assured ...

⚜ Now everything is clear once I realized the truth.

“Make up your mind, this is the clarity that you did not have before. The treatment is strong but lasts only so long-it may be your mind's needing more.”

Every doctor said like I own the ultimate decision, but what they really did was pushing me to comply with their ‘treatment,’ and I don’t have any other choices to live a ‘normal’ life. No, now I know that was never true. 

“Let’s say that’s not it. Why can’t we?”

“The E.C.T. is powerful. It gave you your life back. But the effects fade, and additional treatments are almost always needed.”

Well, everything gotta go if they come. We cannot hold onto one thing forever. We _have to_ move on.

“That wasn’t on the form.”

“Patton, you have to make up your mind that you'll try again. There _are_ moments of light. The one thing that's sure is that there is no cure, but that doesn't mean we don't fight.”

He _does_ have a point there. But I’m seeking a different way to fight-the way everyone else stopped me from even trying. So

_Catch me, I'm falling-_

“We’ll return to the talk therapy.”

_Sinking and sprawling-_

“But there’s more work to do.”

_Maybe I'll let myself fall … ? Watch me, I'm falling, can’t you see?_

“We might have to look at …”

_Maybe the falling …_

“… a new drug regimen.”

_Isn't so …_

_ Make up your mind to be free  _

_Bad after all._

_ Make up your mind to be free  _

_Watch me, I'm falling_

_ Make up your mind  _

_Watch me, I'm flying_

_ Make up your mind  _

_Somehow surviving_

_ Make up-  _

“There are other promising therapies. EMDR, for instance, or rTMS. Patton.”

More acronyms? No thank you, mister!

“Patton. You have a chronic illness. Like diabetes, or hypertension. If you leave it untreated, it could be catastrophic.”

“I understand. But there has to be another way.”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

♕ “It feels like the end of the word is approaching-”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“But it does-” 

Yep, that definitely sounds like my (younger) twin. 

“Wait, are you still at the dance?”

“Pretending to wait for my partner around the fountain.”

“ _Sad_.”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to join as your _partner_? I’m pretty sure they won’t mind ince-”

“Remus, _NO_. You do not cross _that_ line.”

“Fiiiiiine-”

Several seconds of awkward silence.

“… Remus, I’m scared.”

“Why?”

“What if he doesn’t come?”

Oh.

“It-it just makes sense to me. He won’t have time for me when he has to focus on his dad. And I’m a loser compared to-”

“Heck, everyone is a loser in his standard! So what? Virge's verging( _I’m sorry, did you just-_ ) on a serious trouble! And if we give up on him now we may lose him forever! Then we would be losers, huh? Is that what you want?” 

“No …” 

“Say it like you mean it!” 

“No …” 

“Say it like you’re in the army!” 

“NOOOOOO!”

“Don’t you love him?”

“No-aargh I mean-I love him more than anything! Of course, excluding my family. That includes you too.”

“I’m flattered. Sing a verse that perfectly describes your dedication to him!”

“You can build me up, you can tear me down, you can try but I'm unbreakable. You can do your best, but I'll stand the test-you'll find that I'm unshakeable. When the fire's burnt, the wind has blown, the water's dried, you'll still find stone-my heart of stone!”

Oh come on, really? I was expecting Our Love Is God! It’s actually a sweet song without any context, convince me otherwise!

“Am I hearing claps in the background?”

“Um, yes? Some are staring at me like I’m drunk or something.”

“Even better! Now you, Roman Lucia, stay in that dance and wait for him. Got it?”

“Got it!”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ “Stay with me, try again? Don't walk out on treatment, don't lose what you've won! You've struggled for years but you've only begun.”

Right, I only began to find out how to actually solve my problem. I _am_ going to try again, but I’m not staying with doctors anymore.

“My first psychiatrist told me that according to the manual, grief that continues past four months is pathological and should be medicated. Four months. For the life of my child. Who makes these decisions?”

“It’s a guideline, nothing more.”

So it _was_ a therapy that was meant to help me but I never asked for. 

“Is medicine magic? Well, you know that it's not. We know it's not perfect, but it's all that we've got-”

No, that’s wrong! I got more than you think. And from now on, I will make my own decisions to help me, not rely on others!

“Goodbye, Doctor Picani.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Updating 2 chapters in a row? Surprise. These seemed short by themselves so I decided to upload them together
> 
> 'The one thing that's sure is that there is no cure, but that doesn't mean we don't fight.' One of the underrated lines from this musical. 
> 
> I know my characterization of Remus is WAY different from his first appearance in DWIT. Personally I believe that the twins DO care about each other ... let my fluff filter do its job
> 
> Slipping in several musical references more sneakily than a slimey snek! Our Love Is God CAN be romantic! ...Without any context, that is
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the 18th chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	19. Maybe (Next to Normal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after years of unwanted isolation, Virgil gets a chance to have a genuine conversation with his dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: that moment when the title finally makes sense

☥ “What’d he say?”

“He said I could do more E.C.T. or go back on the meds.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to take you to your dance.”

“Dad-”

“It’s time for you to start thinking of your own happiness.”

“It’s not happiness. It’s Roman.”

“You love him.”

“Dad, you can’t just walk out on your doctor.”

“Maybe, I've lost it at last. Maybe, my last lucid moment has passed. I'm dancing with death, I suppose? But really, who knows?”

Ooooooh God. He finally went mad.

“Could be I'm crazy to go? Do you want me to leave, Virgil? Would flight be the better solution than fight for once? They say you should stay with the devil you know, but when life needs a change and the one devil won't, you fly to the devil, you don't?”

Fight or flight. Fight and flight? I always considered flight to be the right answer, only because I cannot stab people being too obnoxiously noisy. Would it be the case in this situation too? Fly away from the problem and let it solve itself on its own. Well, that’s what I’ve yearned to do once high school is over and I move to university dorms anyway.

“Maybe I'm tired of the game of coming up short of the rules, the game of pure shame. And maybe you feel that way too-I see me in you.” 

If this was a game, then there must’ve been some sort of cheat sheet. Like how to unlock all achievements without driving you crazy. Yeah, without going crazy. You’ll never guess how exhausting it is to suppress the bloodlust and cling onto a single shred of sanity, praying for at least an hour of peace. I thought I mastered the game, slithering across the fragile webs of mentality like a spider, but turns out I never was. I just knew how to push myself, or let others push me to continue living this shitty life. Maybe in that sense, we are not so different, dad.

“A boy full of anger and hope. A boy with a father who just couldn't cope. A boy who felt caught and thought no one could see … but maybe, one day, he'll be free.” 

No, I will never be free. This scarring past will become a noose around my neck and shackles that drag my feet forever.

“I wanted my child … ren to call me pops and Logan dad. To differentiate us, y’know? But you referred to both of us as dad. I should’ve realized from that, you are a different individual and can never be a substitute for him …” 

Well, I didn’t really find need to differentiate you two, ‘cause both of you are my dad and love me equally. And I should do the same to both of you equally … well, I’d be lying if I say I didn’t love you. Not just because it was a requirement between a parent-child relationship. I truly loved you, dads. But I could always feel the distance between us that … challenged our love. 

“You never really asked for anything, which was, well, unnatural for kids around your age. Kids always want everything in the store, all those sweets and colorful toys. But you … never wanted anything. Did you hear us discussing how to pay for hospital fees? Oh honey, you know we have no big financial problem! Well, screw American healthcare system, but still. Trust me, we _were_ aware of the lack of love you needed. So we bought anything that would raise the quality of your living condition. All those newest laptops and phones, fancy-though they weren’t really your taste, so apologies-clothes, sweet treats … Of course we knew it was never enough, but we always tried to give you the best we could find …” 

Ha, so you _were_ aware of it? Guess what, it disgusted me because the blatant effort to *buy* my love with money was obvious! I never gave a damn about monetary love, what I desperately needed but never got was genuine love!

“It took years to realize what your favorites are. Favorite food, favorite music, favorite color … your favorite color was kinda obvious, though. You like purple, right? I can’t explain it, but purple really fits you, Virge.”

Dunno, purple always gave some sense of comfort. It reverberates and resonates with my spirituality, cutting off the screams inside my head like noise-canceling headphones. The extroverted energy of red cancels the introverted energy of blue, creating a destructive interference and producing a flatline of monotonous tranquility.

“You grew up so much all alone by yourself, we can never be grateful enough for that, Virgil, and we are so terribly sorry. We forgot you were still a child, not a full-grown adult. But you accomplished so much without our guidance, so we thought it was okay to leave you alone … we never should’ve done that. After all we chose to be your parents. How could we do that to you …” 

This family could never handle another mental one. I could feel my sanity slipping away, but could not tell that to anyone, because I did not want to be an additional burden. I couldn’t take medication, not only because it was the clear symptom of being NOT normal, but I knew I would impulsively overdose myself to death. Even if I miraculously did not kill myself, if they knew they are the cause of _my_ mental illness, their mentality would be only worsened from the guilt. So how could I ever express my suffering?

“… Well, dad, it's so lovely that you're finally sharing. No, really, I'm all ears.” 

Is this how ‘healthy’ conversations are supposed to go? As all those pamphlets said? It tastes awful and makes me sick. I’ve silenced myself for too long, now I forgot how to scream in pain and agony, not to mention spit out a word to start a normal conversation. Because every word hangs on right behind my tongue and refuses to escape. I’m choking in nausea but never can say anything. 

“But where has all this caring been for sixteen years?!”

I NEED some form of compensation for all those lost years of love! You can’t just sound so casual like all of those never happened and pretend no one was hurt! It’s-it’s just … unfair! 

“For all those years, I'd prayed that you'd go away for good. Half the time afraid that you really would … “

Am I an evil person if I wished my parents to disappear? Isn’t disrespecting your parents one of the crime worse than murder in Asia? But I still don’t know what storge, or familiar love is supposed to feel like-it was a foreign concept to me and always will remain that way. Heck, they are not even my biological parents! But that did not stop me from loving them … I _am_ capable of feeling storge but incapable of relating to it. My brain can understand it but not my heart. God, just how fucked up am I?!

“When I thought you might be dying, I cried for all we'd never be …” 

Even though only I have the vaguest memory of my biological parents, trust me, I know what death feels like. It is colorless, odorless, and soundless. The intangible hand grasps people and drains the life out of them. If he died … I know dad won’t send me back to the orphanage, but I could not stop fearing the worst outcome. Ironically that sheer fear of death, the innate factor all living things are born with, kept me from slipping away to complete insanity. Instead I dissolved all of my negative feelings into the tears shed silently. But there'll be no more crying- _not for me_. ‘Cause I will sing no requiem tonight. 

“Things will get better, Virgil. You'll see!” 

Screw that faux optimism, for heaven’s sake!

“Not for me!” 

“You'll see, pretty please?” 

Change is scary. Approach is scary. But I don’t know which is worse. This person approaching me for a conversation does not sound like the dad I’ve seen as I grew up. A complete stranger. I’m scared. I’d rather adapt to life with a mental dad. You don’t even know what my world looks like because you were busy barely taking care of yourself! My world is a twisted dystopia that can make American McGee's Alice cry in terror. If you get a glance of it you’ll think I’m a freak and kick me out. So please go away, do _not_ hug me, I’m scared!

“Not. For. Me.” 

“You'll see …” 

Because I am a coward, I always run away from the problems that become my daytime nightmare. Stepping out of the sun because I only keep getting burned. Then why did I just freeze when this stranger grabbed and held me? Maybe because this man seemed like a second away from completely breaking down, and if I let go of him there will be no one who would catch him. 

“Maybe, we can't be okay. But maybe, we're tough, and we'll try anyway. We'll live with what's real, let go of what's past … and maybe, I'll see you … at last.” 

“Well, I don’t believe you!” 

Do you know how many times dad said that to me? That you will get better and we’ll become a happy family I deserve? God, I was so naive to believe it, I was so stupid! I want to punch windows, walls, and mirrors and scream. I want to jump off from the top of the stairs. There has to be a punishment for youth’s ignorant naïveté! At least I’m dressed up nicely, so I can end up being Evelyn Francis McHale 2.0! Dammit, why isn’t it raining right now? Call me crazy, but I only know self-destructive ways to express these frustrations!

But then he was staring at my soul. With those pleading eyes dragging on my spirit, it took a great effort to take a step away from him. When I barely took 6th step, he spoke up-

“17 years ago … your brother died of an intestinal obstruction. He was eight months old. I know I couldn’t say that to you before. I’m sorry. We wanted to, no, we tried to give you a normal life. But I realize now, I have no clue what that is.” 

Normal? What even is a normal life? Life without any mental illness? Knowing who are your biological parents? Then I was destined to live a life _not_ normal since the beginning.

“Dad … I don't need a life that's normal, that's way too far away.” 

Almost 15 years. The length of period I deviated farther from normal life. Can I rewind the time and restart to live a 'normal' life? No. Do I have to spend another 15 years to stick back to the ‘normal’ life? No. As much as I feared the complete deviation from the society's norm of normal life, I despise wasting time in tears. I won’t cry for the moon anymore.

“But something next to normal … would be okay.” 

I chose my life to be next to normal. So I taught myself how to survive in the life next to normal. In my world something next to normal is normal and something normal is next to normal. If I act ‘normal,’ even if that seems ‘next to normal’ in ‘normal’ world, but in my world it is still ‘normal.’ Yep, I am normal! This idea works like this: when you’re doodling a white person and a black (or any other POC) person on a blackboard with a white chalk, which one’s face would you ‘color’ to indicate the skin color? Would you ‘color’ the white on a blackboard? Try to stick to the ‘definition’ of being ‘white’ on a white background even in the ‘black’ background? Eeh, that made better sense in my mind. But who cares? I am both normal and next to normal in any world. I am just meant to be this way!

“Huh?”

“Yeah, something next to normal, that's the thing I'd like to try. Close enough to normal … to get by.” 

I already mastered life next to normal. I will waste no more years on adjusting back to the ‘normal’ world-I _am_ normal! I finally found and settled on my definition of normal and tranquility, and I can continue living on this way! So you do not try to change me. Instead, try to understand me if you really love me! 

“We'll … get by?” 

“We will. Definitely.”

I don’t know what gave me confidence to state that with certainty. But as I stood still while he embraced me tightly, suddenly the frightening stranger-my dad, the one who chose me from the orphanage-seemed so small. Even though he was usually several inches taller than me, at that moment, he just looked like the most fragile being in this world. As he was shaking hard while weeping on my shoulder, for a brief second I was grateful that no one else was on the hallway. I heard him whispering “A white tie over black shirt? Just like his dad.” Whatever that’s supposed to imply.

“Okay. Now go to your dance, Virgil.”

Yes. Yes I will. Roman is waiting for me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the chapter I could not wait to show as soon as I came up with this idea. I just could see Patton and Virgil singing this...and voilà!
> 
> "I don't need a life that's normal, that's way too far away  
> But something next to normal would be okay  
> Yeah, something next to normal, that's the thing I'd like to try  
> Close enough to normal to get by"
> 
> I needed to hear this. No wonder it became my top 3 favorite song from the track.
> 
> How 'not for me' changes meaning in the midst of the song...a pure genius work. Shoutout to Brian Yorkey!
> 
> "But there'll be no more crying-not for me" radiates passively active aggressiveness while "I will sing no requiem tonight" from Requiem(DEH) radiates actively passive aggressiveness. Guess that's one of the many parallels between Next to Normal and Dear Evan Hansen.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the 19th chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	20. Hey #3 / Perfect for You (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman and Virgil, true couple, on the perfect day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know I needed Perfect for You reprise and For Forever mashup until now
> 
> Also happy Halloween!

♔ Almost two hours has passed. 

Maybe he’s not coming tonight. But it’s okay. I can wait for centuries till his situation is stabled. 

Or maybe … we are through. Maybe I was blinded by my puppy love and forced him into this relationship. Maybe he’s better without m-

_Whoa._

There he entered, panting heavily, dressed in a stunning purple tuxedo that highlighted his dyed hair and right eye.

“Hey …” 

I wanted to immediately run into the arms of my little stormcloud and prince of the night. But his eyes were dazed, as if we were a million worlds apart, so all I could do was freezing like an idiot as he approached me. 

“Hey … Roman.” 

“Wow, you look like a star. A vision in purple. No actually, your suit is a shade of faraway mountains wrapped in hazy mist.”

“Oh I do?” 

“And you are, my polaris.” 

Wow, really smooth, Roman Lucia ... wait, why did I hear that in Remus' voice?

“Hey ... I still can’t believe you actually came.” 

“Well, I said that I might, didn’t I?” 

My eyes are stupid. Well I knew it before, but they just began to water-

“Yes you did, but ... I thought we were through, me and you ...”

_Holy, is this Virgil’s hand wiping my tears away-_

“Not tonight, Roman.” 

Oh thank god. That leaves a million dollar question:

“Will your dad be okay?” 

“Well, he might be some day.” 

Somehow, suddenly he looked so lost and strayed, staring at a distant point that does not exist, a second away from willingly throwing himself off to reach there. My instinct immediately screamed to grab him-figuratively. 

“But for now it's all fine, right?” 

“He's still on my mind … “ 

I completely understand, Virgil. It isn’t easy to let go of a problem that has trapped you for years. But from now on, you can be free. I will make you free. So … 

“Can you leave it behind?” 

“Hey, Roman-”

“Stay, let's see this thing through-” 

“Am I crazy? I might end up crazy!” 

“I'll be here for you, Virge.” 

I know that sounds heavily irresponsible. But I mean it. I will be here for him, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, because Virgil Lobe-Cade is the only person I’ve loved and will love forever. How can I make his fear go away and prove my eternal dedication to him?

“Roman-you don’t understand. You say that right here, but then give it a year, or 10 years, or a life. I could end up your husband, sitting staring at walls, throwing shit down the stairs, freaking out at the store, running nude down the street, bleeding out in the batht-”

“Shh.”

My body moved before I could even think. I just held him still, sensing him calming down like a magic. After his trembling subsided I could feel his light breath on my shirt, his hair tickling my chin, his heartbeat resonating with mine-I felt his vitality. He was a living, strong individual, and I still can’t believe he allowed me to be part of his life. I know the best way I can do to express my gratitude-

“Perfect for you … I will be perfect for you, Virgil. So you could go crazy, or I could go crazy. It's true-sometimes life is insane, but crazy? I know I can do that! 'Cause crazy is perfect, and fucked up is perfect, so …”

And when I stare at those mesmerizing heterochromia, a brilliant amethyst and emerald, God, I swear I can do anything. Even though his inside is shattered with thousands of scars, he still shines brighter than anyone else in my eyes. Ane even if he’s crushed into a fine dust, I will gather the dust and still keep him dearly. Because Virgil Lobe-Cade cannot be more perfect without being Virgil Lobe-Cade!

“I will be perfect for you for forever.”

“Is that Dear Evan Hansen reference?”

“Maybe.”

“Then we could be alright for forever this way!”

_Oh my god._

“Right, Roman?”

_Ohmygod, that smile!!_

God, I am impulsive. I leaned closer to his face only to be stopped by his hands blocking my mouth. Then with a mischievous smirk that made my heart stop for a second, he grabbed both of my cheek and crashed his lips to mine. Wait, WHAT?! 

My first kiss was not as sweet as I expected. I tasted the bitterness, saltiness, and spiciness he used to build a defense mechanism to hide his anger, anxiety, sorrow, and grief away from people. When I felt like crying from the pain I will get to know more (yet I will never get a full grasp on what he has felt) from now on, the admiration of his strength sprouted and lifted up the veil. Then I sensed the richest sweetness I’ve ever experienced-shower of honey streaming in. It was nothing like I’ve known, and the inquiry pushed me deeper into the unique mystery named Virgil. 

It tasted just like Virgil Lobe-Cade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me before midterm season: oh yes I can totally finish this by October!  
> Me after midterm season: am I a joke to you?
> 
> ... Let's just say I underestimated the pressure of university midterm
> 
> Oh hey look! It's a 'caring and dedicated stoner boyf( )riend,' a rare species that can be found in *some* musicals! If you know Michael Mell, you know what I'm talking about. 
> 
> As this fanfic is approaching the end my creative side is screaming more AUs, so no worries, you will get to see more fanfics from me in this fandom
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the 20th chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	21. So Anyway / I Am The One (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton decides to leave the house for everyone's good.
> 
> Which leaves Logan to face the trauma he has refused to even glance at ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! The climax of the drama!

⚜ “Patton? Why are you packing?”

“Logan … I’m leaving. I thought you'd like to know.”

“What?!”

“You're faithful, come what may. I cannot be more grateful than that, but clearly, I can’t say with you. We'd both go mad that way.”

“Falseho-”

“You know this is true. You were hurting as much as I was. I’m so sorry for underplaying your suffering, Logan …”

“But … why? All of a sudden …”

“I guess … that you can see … I'll try this on my own. It will be a life I've never known, the one where I'll face the dread alone, take all of the responsibility, take care of myself on my own … but, at least I'll be free.”

“Do you know where you’ll be staying?”

“I just called my parents, and they agreed on this. You’ve seen how they live in a nice farmhouse, right? They live only an hour away, so I won’t be that far. I can visit you during the holidays!”

Aww, Logan, please don’t make such a wretched face, the face of a man who just lost a reason to live … 

“With you always beside me to catch me when I fall … I'd never get to know the feel of solid ground at all. Logan, I know everything you did for me was for my mental health. While I can never be grateful enough for that, being able to feel makes me feel like a normal person. It makes me feel … alive.” 

Without any word, he gently held my wrist. The bandage had come off a long time ago, but the faint scar is still visible under the bright light. The reminder of my past that will never disappear. But I won't hurt myself anymore. I will not hurt my beloved famILY anymore. I can learn to take a leap from the past and move on to the brighter future!

“With you always believing that we can still come through, It makes me feel like a fool to know that it's not true. It was to be singular. _I_ can come through … without you hurting yourself as much as I do while holding me tight.” 

At this point Logan was visibly shaking, broken by the harsh truth I just spitted out. When I embraced him into a tight hug and collapsed on the bed, I noticed his soft hair tickling my chin, his warm breath on my shoulder, his heart burning … this is the strong man who couldn’t scream when he was in pain worse than mine, because he was busy trying to keep me alive. And I want to end his suffering now. 

“What doctors call dysfunction we tried to call romance. And true, it's quite a trick to tell the dancers from the dance. We were both spiraling down to the madness and growing codependent. That’s as unhealthy as my mental illness … you know that too, Logan. I know you know.” 

My mental illness was a drama that nobody wanted but occured nonetheless. It was a tragedy where everyone was hurt but there was no abuser. If the cause of the suffering cannot be removed, then the second best option is to separate the cause from the others. And while I deal with my challenge by myself, I know he won’t berate and hurt himself.

“Sometimes, knowing too much hurts. Especially when it’s the harsh reality you just cannot accept. So you just pray for a chance that will miraculously make everything better. But rather than let chance take me, I'll take a chance on leaving. It's that, or stay and die. I want to continue living by leaving. Logan, I will be alright. Everything will be alright!”

And I am certain about this because Virgil will be by his side. A strong boy, possibly stronger than both of his dads combined, who grew up so admirably fine with an absence of one of his parents. I know your nurturing takes the full credit, Logan. You managed to hold two people strong for almost 16 years. Now you can take a break. While I venture through my life on my own, Virgil will hold on to you just like you did to him. He surely is the best thing in our lives!

“I loved you once, and though you love me and I love you still, it's time for me to go …”

The kiss that will definitely not be the last tasted sweeter than any other kisses we shared. Even sweeter than our first kiss while stargazing and the kiss on the wedding day combined. The vivid evidence that our love will be valid forever. Even when the pain is excruciating, with my loving famILY waiting for me, I will get better and return to this home one day. No one knows when, but I know I will!

“And so, goodbye, Logan.”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☸ I am the one who loved you.

I am the one who stayed with you. 

And you walked away, Patton … 

_ Dad ... _

I am the one who waited for you. 

And now you act like you just don't give a damn, like you never knew who I am?

_I am the one who knows you._

_I am the one you fear._

_I am the one who's always been here …_

I've always been here, Patton …

All those time and money I spent for you to get better, I’ve never found them as a fruitless waste, but … was my love not enough? What could’ve I done differently? But now he’s not here to answer that … how am I supposed to live without you by my side?

_I am the one who'll heal you. I know you told him that I'm not worth a damn, but I know you know who I am, dad._

“No, can't you just leave me alone?”

_I know you know._

“Why didn't you go with him?”

_'Cause I'm holding on …_

“Let me go!”

_And I won't let go._

“You don’t know!”

_Yeah, I want you to know-_

“I am the one who held you. When we first met you, we just knew you’re going to be our family. You had Patton’s blond hair and my sharp eyes. The most distinct feature, however, was your heterochromia. One honey gold and one chocolate brown. We were mesmerized by those, and wondered whether they’ll change color as you grow up …” 

_I am the one who held you. I wanted to tell you I’m not in pain anymore, it was never your fault, so please don’t cry. But you were in grief too deep to hear me …_

“I am the one who cried. Not crying over the misfortune the heaven decided to punish us with, but crying over the life we definitely could’ve saved if only we were not so ignorant. Crying over my beloved who was so heartbroken. Crying over the sorrow that choked the life out of me.” 

_I am the one who cried. Not crying over my pathetic, short-lived youth, but crying over the grief and guilt you would carry. Crying over the trauma that scarred you. Trust me, even I did not see this coming. It was never your fault-the fault is in our stars._

"I am the one who watched while you died. You just lied down on a cold bed so still, with a faint hint of peacefulness that did not seem right. Your eyes were dull and blurry, staring at the life you couldn’t feel anymore." 

_I am the one who watched while you died. You just sat on a wet stair so still, with a vague hint of self-reproach that did not seem right. Your eyes were dull and blurry, staring at the pain you couldn’t feel anymore._

“I am the one who loved you. After all, you were our first child. With you and Patton on my side, the happily-ever-after life I’ve always dreamed of came true. I couldn’t wait to live a happy, normal life like everyone else does. 

_I am the one who loved you. After all, you were my first guardian. I couldn’t wait to live a happy, normal life like everyone else does._

I tried pretending that I don't give a damn … 

_I tried pretending that I don't give a damn …_

_But you've always known who I am._

“... Yes, yes I have.”

_Then say it._

“I still don’t know what you are. Are you a personification of our guilt that decided to take the form of our dead child? Or not just Patton’s, but _our_ depression? Or even mental illness? The trauma that scarred our lives? Or are you just a mere poltergeist?” 

_Well, haven’t you seen me? If you did, you would know the answer._

“I was able to see you all along. But I chose to shun you away. Because _someone_ had to stay strong for the family. I couldn’t become an _another_ drug addict-then we would’ve lost custody right for Virgil and he would’ve had to be sent back to the orphanage. I couldn’t let that happen. After all, I am the one who persuaded Patton to adopt Virgil, in a sheer hope of helping with his traumatized parenthood. Honestly, I still don’t know how Vee thrived in this disastrous household.”

_We both know he is a strong kid. Shame that I never got to meet him. Are you still going to live like I never existed in your life?_

“No, I won’t. Not anymore. Because I do know this: you were our first child, and always will be. You are …”

_Say my name, dad._

“Jay, Janus ...”

When that foreign word, a key to the painful past, rolled off from the tip of my tongue, there he was, in a shimmering gold, the boy with caramel blond hair that blends into sunflower blond at the tip, intriguing heterochromia of honey gold and chocolate brown shining, sharp eyes focused on me, a fine boy who just looked like what my child would have grown up to be. With a smile so bright, cheeks glistened with tears, eyes glinting with a delight of finally being recognized after years, he answered-

_ “Hi, dad ...” _

In a blink of an eye, he was gone. But I know he did not leave this house. He will always stay with me. I have seen him this entire time but ignored him, praying that his disappearance would mark the end of our suffering. But now without Patton by my side, he’s the last thing that would remind me of him. So I’ll give in and keep a small part of Patton Cade, the man I loved with all of my heart. He wasn’t just a projection of trauma-he was a reminder who tells me to forgive, but not forget the past, and begin to take care of myself (and Virgil as well). 

I think I’m finally ready to move on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe this fanfic is approaching the end? This is the very first long series I'm trying and I still don't know where I got the determination to complete this from
> 
> There you heard it. The first time Janus' name is actually mentioned, after 20 chapters. It was intended to emphasize the dramatic impact in the original play. 
> 
> However you interpret Janus' role, whether he was a ghost, personification of guilt, physicalization of trauma, or even defense mechanism, Logan finally finds to courage to face the scars from the past, admits he was suffering as well but had to swallow it for the sake of being the one who holds this famILY together, and takes a step toward the future. Everything will be fine!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the 21st chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	22. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And everyone learns to move on. To the future that will shine brighter.

☥ “What the hell? Why are the lights off? Where’s dad?”

“He’s, uh, he’s …”

“Gone.”

“... Yes.”

“Huh. So it’s just me and you. For now.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. First of all, we need some light. You can't sit here in the dark and all alone, it's a sorry sight, dad.” 

I expected him to mutter “Watch your language.” That was a savage comment even in my standard. But he just … remained still in the dark. So I quietly sighed and crossed the room to move the curtains. The daybreak was about to start, and the purple shimmer came streaming in through the window. I’ve never liked the sun-it’s too bright and hurts my eyes. I’ve always felt like I was being burned alive at every step I take under the sun. 

But now, with the sunlight shining everything in purple, I can feel the warmth I’ve never felt before-or maybe it’s more like the warmth I was too afraid to even feel. I’ve always dreaded morning, not just because of the night owl’s disastrously malfunctioning body clock, but also the uncertainty and fear of surviving another crazy day without going crazy. Yet this morning seems different. For the first time in my life, I am actually looking forward to starting a new day. I didn’t feel that way even when my parents chose me. 

At the end of the trail of purple sunshine my sight settled on my dad. I saw his reddened eyes, dark circles worse than mine, cheeks stained with tears … it seemed like he aged at least 20 years overnight, all of the energy drained out from his body. Yet his tears still continued to pour. 

“I’ve never seen you crying, dad.”

I really can’t recall the last time I saw him crying. He was always focused on remaining stable, doing his best to comfort dad and me. But that did not tell me to always rely on him. That might be what he _wanted_ us to think, and while dad seemed to believe it, I knew he too was a fellow human and felt as sad as we did. He did manage to hold this family together, but it cost him mental and emotional health. 

I faintly remember how I would sit on his laps and enthusiastically listen to him reading papers about Roman architecture. Now I’ve grown up and he’s grown old, but the sentiment I felt when I climbed to his lap and embraced him as tightly as I can did not change. Not at all. He remained still for another full minute before letting out a choked sob and hugging me as if I’m his last lifeline.

“It's just you and me. But we'll live, you'll see.”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☸ Le vent se lève! . . . il faut tenter de vivre!

_The wind is rising! . . . We must try to live!_

From _Le Cimetière marin_ (The Graveyard By The Sea), a poem by Paul Valéry.

Since he left my weekend has been more laid-back. I wouldn’t call it dormant, but it’s been only 2 weeks since I discovered how comfortable bed is on weekend mornings. I’ve been spending my weekend morning reading poems or novels, with a cup of latte on my side, now tasting not as bitter as it used to be. 

Virgil began to go outside more often. He used to spend countless days and nights behind the locked door, and I could only wonder what he was doing and reluctantly push the worry aside. But now while he’s hanging out with Roman, I have a chance to clean the ‘organized disorder’ occupying his room and gaze at what I couldn’t. From the spider web pattern on the door and the rich wine colored wall I could sense the tranquility of the sanctuary Virgil has isolated himself in for years. It also gave me a list of ideas for Vee’s birthday gifts, the kind that would really match his taste. For the upcoming birthday, I know what I will give him: constellations projector night light. I can tell him myriads of constellations stories to him … just like I did to Patton. 

Yeah, with Patton … night after night, we'd sit and wait for the morning light, the most magnificent time of the day. Whenever the exact shade of Patton’s eyes appeared it whispered to me the hope that today will be better than yesterday. But we've waited far too long-for all that's wrong to be made right.

Yet that does not mean I made a wrong choice. I made the best choice I could … or so I thought. Now I know the best choice for Patton is the choice he made by himself.

So I’ll make the choice … that is best for _myself_. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚜ It’s been years since I lied down on the pile of haystack in my favorite spot of this barn. My childhood was basically Charlotte's Web, but sadly I never found a spider who could spell out words. Wait … I should be grateful that I never found creepy crawly death dealers in this barn. 

Two weeks of staying in my childhood home and helping my parents. Somehow it makes me feel better than every therapy and counseling I’ve been through combined. The only fault in this lifestyle is the absence of my famILY … but they can come see me at any time! Oh, maybe Virge can bring Roman too! 

Sometimes I wonder if this has been the right answer all along and we didn’t realize it earlier. But I do know I wouldn’t have been able to reach this solution if we did not try everything else. Here I am, day after day, wishing all our cares away, trying to fight the things we feel, overcoming all those fears and sadness and anxieties with the love of my famILY. And during that fight I feel the rush of adrenaline through my veins, heating my body with the sensation of vitality. And for that feeling of being alive I will continue this battle. 

But some hurts never heal, and some ghosts are never gone. Although my mental illness does not take the form and voice of my child anymore, it still haunts me: it still chokes me, makes my stomach coil and twist, and splashes newest episodes of nightmare in the middle of the night. The faint scars concealed behind friendship bracelets only remind me of my past. The past that will never stop chasing me. 

But we go on-we still go on. Because I know life will continue, with highs and lows. 

_ And you find some way to survive.  _

_ And you find out you don't have to be happy at all …  _

_ To be happy you're alive.  _

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☥ “So, Vivi … do you know where he went? Have you heard from him?”

“Oh, I’ve heard from him. He’s staying with my grandparents.”

“Do they actually exist?”

“Yes. _Duh_.”

Now you know how I mastered the art of eye-rolling.

“So-that’s good, right?”

“Well, going home has never been a solution to any of my problems.”

“That’s what you have Roman Lucia for!”

“Seriously? You’re like number three on my list of issues.”

“You keep a _list_?”

“But don’t worry, Roman. You’re my favorite problem.”

“That's all I ask!”

Day after day, life gives me clouds and rain and gray. Not that I mind-the sound of rainfall hitting windows and the smell of wet soil after a shower always calm me. The rumbles of storm clouds never triggered my misophonia-it was a soothing lullaby. I’ve absolutely loved jumping into puddles and walking in the rain for hours ever since I was a child (sorry not sorry, dads.) Raindrops-they play a rhythm that does not make me sick. They damp my hoodie and hair and make me slightly shiver in coldness. They give the sensation that makes me feel … alive. 

I’m willing to ask life to give me pain if that’s what’s real. Even if I will never be liberated from it, as long as I cry, weep, scream in pain, and react like how normal people would do, I’ll take it as the price we pay to feel. To feel like ... _living_. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

♔ Remus ended up joining Virge’s birthday party. The heck, bro.

Really, it was just a small dinner with four of us. Logan was *academically* thrilled to find out how we were named after the famous twins from the Roman myth. I’ll admit the shared Roman themed naming was one of the reasons I fell to Virge. While Logan and Remus were engaged in a fiery discussion about Roman sewer system, I could not stop staring at Virgil. He looked … different. In a lavender eyeshadow instead of his typical black, his eyes seemed to glow. But not the glassy glow from teary eyes-more like starry, shining with a hope for a new future. 

Though, the house felt too big with an absence of one person. I could still sense the hurt that won’t go away in Logan and Virgil’s eyes. The price of love is loss-every love has an equal opposite loss. When you meet and love someone, one day you have to depart. But that does not become a reason to _not_ love-still we pay that price and we love anyway!

Just before Vee turned to go back inside, I pulled him back and kissed him! To be honest, I expected him to slap or punch me, but he snuggled closer into my embrace, which gave me a perfect chance to slip in the birthday card I created for him. I wanted to deliver it to him personally. I didn’t write too much on that-I just put down what I will never hesitate to repeat hundreds and thousands times for Virgil:

La noche se va 

el sol nos vuelve a iluminar. 

Tanto tuvo que pasar, 

para aceptar y despertar. 

_ The night goes  _

_ The sun illuminates us again  _

_ So much had to happen,  _

_ To accept and wake up.  _

Los días se van 

esa es nuestra realidad. 

Enfrentas lo que sentís, 

Y si hay dolor seguís. 

Algún fantasma habrá, 

que no se ira, y no esta mal. 

_ The days go by-  _

_ That is our reality.  _

_ You face what you feel,_

_ And if there is pain, you continue.  _

_ There will be some ghost,  _

_ That it won't go away, and it's not bad.  _

Y se puede sobrevivir, 

Y se puede ser feliz, 

Sin seguir el manual 

Que te obliga a ser feliz. 

_ And you can survive,  _

_ And you can be happy,  _

_ Without following the manual  _

_ That forces you to be happy.  _

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

☤ “I know you can’t tell me, doctor Picani … if you’re still treating him. I just, I wonder if he’s okay.”

“I think he’s working on it. And he’s aware of the risks.”

“Do you think he’ll come home?”

“It’s hard to know.”

“… Right.”

“Logan. Would you like me to recommend someone … for you to talk to?”

“Oh, no, I mean, yes. I would. Thank you. Actually … cartoons sound lovely.”

“Emile would be delighted to hear that!”

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

And when the night has finally gone, and when we see the new day dawn, we'll wonder how we wandered for so long, so blind. The wasted world we thought we knew? The light will make it look brand new. 

The sun is bright today. Especially in the sky that is the exact color of his eyes.

The sun is bright today. And when it sets the sky will turn to the exact color of his eyes.

_So ... let it shine._

Day after day, we'll find the will to find our way, knowing that the darkest skies will someday see the sun. 

When our long night is done, and the murky shade of navy that only reminds of solitude fades in, there will be light.

When we open up our light, the famILY can fight that fight.

_**There will be light.** _

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

⚕ I would be lying if I say I pitied you.

No, frankly speaking, I would want to apologize to you more than anything else.

Intentionally adopted to replace my memory, you have been striving to be the perfect child for both of our parents. If I was alive, would I have been able to relieve the burden from your shoulders? Would you have been able to live a normal life? Could I have been a good brother to you? Could we have become normal siblings? Could we have become a normal famILY?

I was there when you first arrived at this home, when you dressed up like Jack Skellington for Halloween, when you brought Titania (although a snake would’ve been more of my taste), when you broke a jar of Crofters and innocently commented that your blood smells sweet while dads were crying (that’s my little stormcloud), when you broke your nose but did not cry while trying to protect the black kitten from a drunken man (a truly heroic act indeed), when you absolutely slayed that beautiful piano solo during the concert, when you brought that Lucia boy for dinner-I saw you growing up every second.

If I got to see you in person, I wanted to hug you. I wanted to fall asleep cuddling with you. I wanted to open Christmas presents with you. I wanted to run a Tim Burton movie marathon on Friday nights with you. I wanted to go to art supplies shopping with you. I wanted to go camping and make s’mores with you. I wanted to go to the new downtown theatre with you. I wanted to be present at every contest and concert you were in. I wanted to carry you to bed when I found you slumped on the desk at 4am. I wanted to fix you a cup of hot chocolate when I hear you sniffling across the closed door. And when I learn how to drive (I can guarantee that I drive better than dad - ha!) I wanted to teach you how to drive and drive you to the prom. I wanted to attend your commencement ceremony and take a picture with you dressed in a gown and cap.

A birthday cake. One of too many things I could not get to see with my own eyes. It is a beautiful color, isn’t it? Especially the light purple flower decoration … purple is just meant to be your color, Virge. It’s a noble combination of energetic red and integrous blue, a balanced turmoil and an exploding harmony that leads to the spiritual enlightenments. Maybe you instinctively digged into purple to seek a sense of tranquility in this life? You know, Vee, my favorite color is the complementary color of yours-yellow. The non-emotional color that makes you mentally analytical and critical-both to yourself and others-and even anxious. Maybe that’s the foreshadowing we would have a rocky sibling relationship? No, I do not doubt we would have a smooth relationship, at least the typical bickering level! 

What am I? No one truly knows. To pops I was the embodiment of his mental illness. To dad I was the personification of his guilt. If only I was as ‘influential’ as I did to our parents to you … then would I’ve been seen as more than a haunting shadow that buries you alive? I won’t go away-I _am_ part of this family. But I won’t silence you anymore. I will continue watching you shine as you always have. Especially with those Lucia boys (They seemed decent, but I shall gladly haunt their dreams if they dare to make you cry) by your side. I know they will love you no matter what-they might be even able to fill the void you were stuck in under the absence of our parents. And last but not least, 

_ Happy birthday, Virgil!  _

_ Sincerely, your brother who will always be by your side, _

_ Janus. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... This is it.
> 
> This is it!
> 
> You just finished the last chapter!
> 
> Even I CANNOT believe I just completed a 22 chapter long story! Thank you everyone for all kudos, comments, bookmarks, and support you showed! I could NOT finish this without you! 
> 
> One of the (countless) reasons I love Next to Normal is that it does not end in the Disney-sque 'and they lived happily ever after' ending. It might be a sad ending, but it is the best ending for each character. Everyone finds the way that will make them happy. And they have the hope of the better future, the day Patton will return to his famILY.
> 
> After all, the pain and scar mental illness inflicted on you will never go away. But it is fine. That does not stop you from continue proceeding. 
> 
> "And you find some way to survive.
> 
> And you find out you don't have to be happy at all …
> 
> To be happy you're alive."
> 
> That is my favorite line from the entire show. "Hey, it's okay to be unhappy." You'll never guess how much I needed to hear that.
> 
> The Spanish lines from Roman's part are from the Spanish version of the song (yes I am the proud linguistics nerd AND theatre kid.) The show's Spanish title is "Casi Normales (Almost Normal)" and "Light" is translated to "Luz." I love the Spanish lyrics as much as, if not more than, the English original version, so please go listen to that one as well!
> 
> I decided to end the story with Janus' monologue to Virgil. Although the sibling relationship is not explored in the original show, I do not doubt they would've had a healthy, close relationship. (Not just because I am a MASSIVE fan of Janus and Virgil having a parent-child relationship theory)
> 
> Happy thanksgiving, please stay safe, and I will come back once again with the Author's words.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the 22nd chapter, and until next time, take it easy guys, gals and non-binary pals. PEACE OUT!


	23. Author's Note: Sincerely, Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just notes of what I wanted to say regarding this story. Nothing too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I promised, I'm back with author's notes, finally wrapping up this story!
> 
> Thank you everyone for leaving comments, kudos, and bookmarks. I hope you'd enjoy my future stories as well, and
> 
> Happy new year!

As a creator who lives and dies over symbolism, I had to do a research and find the significant surnames for this story. For a second I was in the temptation to (hypocritically) choose somewhat ‘generic’ names for human! au, such as Logan Berry, Patton Hart, or Roman Kingsley, but at the end the union of my intelligent Side and creative Side won. (They also came up with different names for my take of highschool! au)

Logan’s last name comes from lobe, an anatomical term that refers to a clear anatomical division or extension of an organ that can be determined without the use of a microscope at the gross anatomy level. There are four main lobes of the brain: frontal lobe, that controls the movement and action; parietal lobe, that manages two point discrimination, touch localization, and graphesthesia (recognition of the writing on the skin by touch alone); occipital lobe, that handles the visualization; and temporal lobe, that organizes the formation of long-term memory as well as process of sensory input and language recognition. 

Patton’s last name comes from John Cade, an Australian psychiatrist who discovered the effects of lithium carbonate as a mood stabilizer in the treatment of bipolar disorder (known as manic depression in 1948.) At a time when the standard treatments for psychosis were electroconvulsive therapy (ECT, electric chair We shock who we can't save-) and lobotomy, lithium had the distinction of being the first effective medication available to treat a mental illness. I enjoyed creating rhymes with ‘Cade,’ as depicted at the end of ‘A Light in the Dark,’ as well as puns with Lobe-Cade, such as ‘locate’ and ‘lube,’ as our trash rat spitted out in ‘Perfect For You.’ (Come on, I’m actually proud of that pun)

And the twin’s last name Lucia means ‘light’ in Spanish. Pretty straightforward symbolism, isn’t it? 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Aaaaand of course, I also chose the special characters that indicate each character’s perspective. Surprise surprise. Though, if you’ve been reading this since the very beginning, you must’ve seen how the symbols changed.

⚜ Patton: Fleur-de-lis (in French, fleur means "flower", and lis means "lily") was used in the heraldry of numerous European nations, but is particularly associated with France and its monarchical period. It was also believed to represent the Holy Trinity: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I dare to connect that to how the famILY will thrive after Patton left: father, (Logan) son, (Virgil) and spirit. (Janus) In addition, in the Victorian language of flowers, lilies portray love, ardor, and affection for your loved ones. Lilies are also the flowers most commonly used at funerals, because they symbolize that the soul of the deceased has been restored to the state of innocence.

⚕ Janus: Rod of Asclepius is a serpent-entwined rod wielded by the Greek god Asclepius, a deity associated with healing and medicine. There cannot be a more fitting symbol for a serpent-like Side in charge of self preservation. It can be found on the flag of the World Health Organization and Star of Life.

☸ Logan: The dharmachakra, or wheel of dharma, is a widespread symbol used in Indian religions such as Jainism, Hinduism and especially Buddhism. In Buddhism, the Dharma Chakra is widely used to represent the Buddha's Dharma (Buddha's teaching and the universal moral order.) The Buddha is said to have set the "wheel of dharma" in motion when he delivered his first sermon. This "turning of the wheel" signifies a great and revolutionary change with universal consequences, brought about by an exceptional human being. Some historians associate the ancient chakra symbols with solar symbolism, which can be connected to Patton’s fleur-de-lis; flowers cannot survive without the sun.

☥ Virgil: The ankh, or key of life, is an ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic symbol that most commonly represented the word for "life" and, by extension, as a symbol of life itself. Thus it was frequently depicted being held in gods’ hands, representing their power to bestow life. It was used in writing as a triliteral sign (representation of a sequence of three consonants) that appeared in several Egyptian words, including the ones meaning “life,” “mirror,” (which can refer to how his relationship with Roman ‘reflects’ that of his parents) and “floral bouquet.” (which can be tied back to Patton’s fleur-de-lis as well)

♔ Roman: King is the most important piece in the game of chess. If a king is threatened with inevitable capture, it marks the end of the game. In other words, it is the only piece that cannot be captured. I assigned the king piece to our gay Disney prince who brought the undefeatable devotion to a stormcloud’s life. 

♕ Remus: Queen is the most powerful piece in the game of chess. It is the piece that can move to any space on the chessboard, just like how intrusive thoughts can invade at any time. Though, I apologize for wasting this interesting character-hopefully in next stories I might get better at distinct character portrayal. 

⚚ Emile, ☤ Remy: The caduceus is a short staff surmounted by wings and entwined by two serpents. It was often depicted being carried in the left hand of Hermes/Mercury, the messenger of the gods. It is often incorrectly used as a symbol of healthcare organizations and medical practice, due to being confused with Rod of Asclepius. It can be tied to how neither was the most effective treatment for Patton? Also, I assigned the one with snakes entwined to Remy, because ECT brought the curves and twists to the famILY’s life. 

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

And … here we are.

The part I was dreaded to even begin, but also the part that pushed me to begin this fanfic in the first place. 

So how do I put this? How do I decode the pills of notes scattered over the tangled staves and play the music from these washed out pages? The music that sounds different every time I play only the prelude? No matter how many times I repeat this sonata, I am never satisfied because it never truly delivers the story I want to say.

Hell, it might be the grave I dug for myself. Communication was never my thing. I was not as normal as I thought I was; I just knew how to act normal. I won’t say I was good at it, after all whenever I indicate approval/disapproval I never mean full 100%. I round up/down the appealing rate by ceiling/floor function. Uncertainty is a bitter air that lingers on my tongue and strangles it. It chokes me but it does not kill me. I breathe through it-I live through it. Forever. 

Sound terrifies? concerns? alerts? annoys? irritates? tires me. Sound only attracts attention and judging looks and whispers. Sound transforms (read: messes up) my Yerkes-Dodson curve and forces me to perform normally under the excessive pressure. I cannot visualize the curve-and if I cannot, who can?-but I do sense this: I would look ‘too calm’ in the traumatic situation. Some would suspect me of going mad due to the trauma. Others would suspect me of hiding what I truly feel. I don’t want people to assume either to be true-because either won’t be true. I do not dwell in the black-and-white dichotomy. Like I said, I breathe through uncertainty, hesitance and ambiguity. 

I have been the type to perform decently in the actual performance despite the pressure and/or stage fright. But that was before I was conscious of my problems. Maybe it was a price of realizing that should’ve left unknown. Maybe it was a discovery of the equal opposite reaction for the action. Maybe it was a failed obedience to the consistent pressure. I have believed I would get used to this nonstop stress, adapt to this definitely-not-normal environment I am stuck in, and eventually, stop feeling the pain. I cannot stop keeping this stupid hope despite clearly knowing that the hurting never ceases. 

Hey, what does it feel like to live NOT being tense 24/7? How can you NOT physically flinch at the unexpected noise? How can your fight-or-flight instinct remain calm at the sound of steps banging against the floor? What do you mean, you’ve never internally recoiled at a heated conversation? Haven’t you sought comfort from the presence of headphones covering your ears and willingly embraced the risk of the lowering of hearing for the sake of keeping sanity? You have NEVER suppressed the violent urge that sprung as soon as the noise reached the eardrums?

_“There is no rhyme or reason to what I do. I just do!”_

Sure, mister personification of intrusive thoughts. People who live with such mindset and prioritizes instincts over reason are always the happiest. But guess who takes the responsibilities of the consequences of their thoughtless actions? The closest people around them, in most cases, their family members. The blood relation nullifies the indulgence. And the several variants of the sense of ‘unfairness’ bubble, most notably “why can’t I do what they do” and “why won’t the damage I inflict to them justified with the damage they’ve been causing me for years.”

Like I said before, my life story is a complicated piece that differs every time I play it. Though, this is not the first time I’ve ever tried to put it into the words. And every single time I did I created a dissimilar narrative. My writing skill does not take the credit; rather, the topic does. It is a multidimensional problem that would differ significantly at every single angle. 

In addition, I was reluctant to share my personal story, or let anyone peek at my personal boundary in general. Not just because I am used to silence-to the point where I forgot how to scream-but also because I know how easy it is to cut off the tie. All it takes is a week-long lack of contact, even in the era dominated by social media. So why should I even care to reveal my darkest secret to a stranger whom I might never meet ever again?

It’s been about 1.5 years since I became (relatively) less hesitant to express myself-and it was not as smooth as what I sketched in my mind. If I know too well that friendship would come to the end at some point, where did I find the courage to open up to a complete online stranger? And how did one of such ‘online strangers’ win the record of shortest time (about 8 months) for me to open up to the point where I spitted out my *dark and troubled* past like pulling off a bandage? Only heaven knows. 

Recently, I came up with the most satisfying imagery to visualize my personal problem: un problème parfait (a perfect problem.) My existence is just a bunch of problems piled up like a hell of parfait (as in dessert, which directly translates into ‘perfect.’) I will dare to list out the ‘ingredients’ that will only make me appear more alien and unapproachable. I’m fine with that. Or am I really? Whoever has been through cascade of well sibling syndrome, victimhood, hiraeth, exulansis, challenge of the eldest daughter of immigrant parents, cultural dysphoria, identity crisis of TCK, agnosthesia, altschmerz, and misophonia would be able to vaguely understand-after all no two people are the same. 

I should stop before you get too lost. This is the most ambiguous take of an indirect description I’ve tried, partially because I was rushing to finish this in 2020. Maybe I’ll be better at this in 2021. But before I leave, I would like to borrow scattered quotes from this masterpiece by Brian Yorkey and Tom Kitt that gave me the justification of my lifestyle (of which I wish I’d known sooner, yet I do not regret, for now I can tell you what I wish others told me when I was younger) to assure you to continue what you’ve been doing:

Feeling pain is the proof you’re still alive. Even if the equally hurting and monotonous days continue, it does not become the reason to stop you from proceeding. You don’t have to fear being ‘crazy,’ and it is never your fault, ’cause crazy is perfect and being fucked up is perfect. You’re just next to what society set as the norm of ‘normal.’ You might never be ‘normal,’ but it is perfectly fine. The sheerest hope of getting better is more than enough for you to take a step forward.


End file.
